


Fireworks and Flowers

by Ava_Dakedavra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27373918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava_Dakedavra/pseuds/Ava_Dakedavra
Summary: Hermione is perfectly - well, not happy, but - content with her life after the war. She works in the Ministry alongside Percy Weasley, adores her godson Teddy Lupin, and is just lucky that her friends are happy.Up until the marriage law crops up. That does definitely put a damper on things.Luckily, Fred knows how to make people laugh.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Katie Bell/Alicia Spinnet, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s), Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 83
Kudos: 312





	1. Shed New Light

**Author's Note:**

> I normally have only ever written Fremione (is that what the kids are calling it these days?) on ffn, which should give an indication to how long it's been since I've written this ship. Once you've done a million and one oneshots for them, ideas are hard to come by. But, I found that they were nestled nicely in my brain, and thought this would be a welcomed stress relief. 
> 
> Without further ado - 
> 
> "Whoa, fever's running high/ Burned off the demons in my mind/ I'm seeing with fresh eyes/ What we had was built on/ Broken promises and hard-won love..." Delta Rae, "New Days - Acoustic"

Perhaps to an outside perspective, it was anyone’s guess as to who Hermione would end up with. Most guesses were on either Harry or Ron, of course, although there were quite a few more on Malfoy, oddly enough.

Maybe that’s why Lupin and Tonks had assigned Harry and Hermione as Teddy’s godparents, in an odd matchmaking scheme from the afterlife. 

Or perhaps Tonks heard Lupin’s pick for godfather, and had the foresight to think that Harry could’ve used a bit of help.

Regardless, Hermione was honored and she knew Harry felt the same - although, things were a bit dampered by the way things had turned out. 

She pondered these things as she stared out across the crowd of mourning faces and saw Andromeda, clutching onto a drowsy pink-haired baby like a lifeline.

  
It’d made sense at the time, really, to hold a massive funeral for the Order members lost during the battle. Lupin and Tonks were the final two, their caskets poised and ready for burial as Charlie Weasley continued in his eulogy to his friend. George had descended from the makeshift stage previously, and Hermione eyed Fred’s casket, settled beside Lupin’s. The corner of her mouth tried to quirk a grin, as the twins had always pestered Lupin for more Marauder secrets. Perhaps he was getting them now. 

Charlie had gone silent, staring at the three caskets closest to him. He’d lost a friend and a brother - Hermione didn’t mind him being pensive.

Until she took a closer look at Charlie’s face, and noticed it was one of confusion instead of grief. 

Charlie opened his mouth, sure to shrug whatever incident had just transpired off, before one of the caskets gave a startling rattle, just one at first before picking up speed. 

“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUUUT!” the inhabitant hollered, and Charlie was rushing to their aide in an instant. 

Meanwhile, the crowd was standing and parting and rushing away - some thought Inferi, others just a good old fashioned zombie uprising. However, one of many ginger heads bounced forward, a purple dragon-hide suit jacket flapping in the wind.

“Fred!” George yelped as he and Charlie lifted the lid of the casket, a pale face and shaky hands popping up and clutching at the mahogany sides, looking to all the world as though he were sea sick. 

And so, Fred had unknowingly upstaged both Lupin and Tonks’s - as well as a few others’ - funerals, what with his grand appearance. Or, rather, re-appearance. 

Hermione mused the proper term as she bounced Teddy on her knee, sitting outside a rather crowded hospital room. Harry had offered to take the tyke from Andromeda, to give her a bit of a rest and ample time to grieve, and Hermione had taken him from Harry, insisting he go and be with Ginny and the other Weasleys. 

Teddy gummed at his fist, and Hermione had to smile. Teddy, seeing the expression, tried to mimic it, but only managed to shove his fist farther into his mouth. 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Bill said, exiting the room with Fleur, who looked a little green herself. “There’s a bit more space in there now, if you want.”

Hermione blinked up at him in confusion, standing and settling Teddy on her hip as he clutched at the collar of her dress. “You’re leaving?”

“I am not feeling very well,” Fleur announced with a pained smile, pressing a few fingers to her temple. “Bill will be back to visit, once we check on the ‘ome.”

Hermione spared a glance to Bill, who was looking worriedly at his wife, and smiled at the attractive blonde. “It seems Fred isn’t going anywhere soon - let Bill take care of you for a bit.”

Fleur tutted and Bill chuckled, and the two ambled down the hallway as Hermione entered the hospital room.

It was chaos, of course. Mrs. Weasley was wailing into Fred’s shoulder, Percy draped across his mother’s shoulders, George perched on one side of the bed, Ginny and Ron speaking animatedly at the foot. Charlie, Mr. Weasley and Harry were all pressed together on the opposite wall, watching on. 

Fred, to his credit, looked alive and putting up with the chaos far better than Hermione was sure she would’ve. At her entrance, Fred glanced to the doorway to give a cheery smile, before he paled all over again. 

“How long was I out?!” he cried in shock. 

Hermione looked on in confusion. She’d seen him last only a few days ago, during the Battle, but he hadn’t seemed surprised by her appearance then. 

“A few days, mate, why?” George insisted. 

“When did Granger have a  _ baby? _ ” Fred asked, aghast.

Laughter exploded across the room as two and two were put together, and Hermione smiled as Teddy’s brown curls brushed across her cheek while he dozed on her shoulder.

“This is Teddy, Lupin and Tonks’s son,” Hermione explained, and Fred seemed to collect himself. 

“He’s mine and Hermione’s godson, and you’re sure to be seeing a lot of him,” Harry said, crossing the room and gently scooping the baby out of Hermione’s arms, cradling him against his chest. Hermione eyed Ginny and suppressed a grin, knowing the girl was ready to swoon. “We need to talk to Andromeda about things, though.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Hermione agreed, although she was thinking through all of the other things she needed to work out as well. Teddy, however, was top priority. 

“Well, glad to know not much has changed,” Fred said with a sigh, patting his chest as though he were restarting his heart. 

While Fred hadn’t been entirely correct, as things had certainly changed, they were for the better. The following years saw the birth of Victoire Weasley, the marriage of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, and everyone gathering themselves in the aftermath of the war and marching forward. 

Hermione, herself, had gotten a job in the Ministry, set to work her way towards being Minister one day, an ambition strongly encouraged by the Minister of Magic himself. 

Hermione had just gotten off of a long day’s work of refiling the horrendous catalog of arbitrary files that had been kept during the war, ready to fill her face with something warm and fresh out of the oven, when a considerable weight ran itself into her shins and nearly knocked her backwards. 

After pinwheeling to keep her balance, Hermione shot a horrible attempt at a frown down at the little boy with his arms wrapped around her legs, giggling back up at her before crowing to be picked up. 

“Sorry!” Harry called from down the hall, a chorus of laughter following somewhere nearby. 

Teddy, however, seemed the furthest thing from sorry, grinning cheekily as Hermione hefted him up and parked him on a hip. “I miss you!” he insisted loudly before wrapping his arms around her head, giving her sloppy kisses as she laughed. 

Any hint of exhaustion was gone, and soon she was bending the little boy upside down and peppering his face with a litany of kisses while he let out loud peals of laughter. 

“Hermione!” Percy called from the kitchen, a plate already in his hands as he passed it off to her. Her and Percy had gotten closer as they’d worked together to sort through the mess of paperwork that had been left behind after the Ministry changed hands. “Did you finish with the werewolves, the wraiths or the Welsh file this evening?”

“Not even to the trolls, Percy,” she said with a nod of gratitude, making her way into the kitchen. It seemed that a majority of dinner had already been had, as only a few Weasleys were at the table, and most plates had been cleared. Mrs. Weasley was enjoying a cup of tea while trying to feed some orange mash to Victoire, and Fred and George were huddled up on one end of the table to go over some products. 

“Hermione, lovely to see you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, hardly sparing her a glance from her granddaughter. Hermione couldn’t blame her - Victoire was a darling. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t feel like trying to cook something for myself this evening,” Hermione said as she sat beside the matriarch, maneuvering around Teddy who seemed hell-bent on hanging on from her neck, Percy fluttering near the sink for some reason. It was easy to lose track of what someone was doing in that house, as there were constantly a million things going on at once. Hermione hardly cared though - she nearly welcomed the familiar chaos. 

“She wouldn’t have made you a plate if she’d minded, Granger,” one of the twins called from down the table, and Hermione shot a cheeky glare down to their grins. 

“Can I have green beans?” Teddy asked as he settled in Hermione’s lap, staring intently at her plate.

“What’s the magic word?” she asked, although she was already spearing the legumes onto the tines of her fork. At Teddy’s mispronounced “please,” they were deposited into his eager mouth. 

“I noticed your hand on the clock, figured you needed a home cooked meal,” Molly continued. 

“Err - “ Percy finally interrupted, and Hermione looked up at him as she managed to get a few bites in her own mouth rather than Teddy’s. “Were you expecting something from the Minister?”

Hermione shot him a curious glance, shaking her head while she chewed. She glanced to his hands - it was the Minister’s stationary, alright. She reached for it, puzzled at the appearance of a second letter in Percy’s hands, which was addressed to him, and a third on the counter addressed to Arthur - who was still tinkering in his shed if the light out there was anything to go by. 

They opened them at the same time, and for Percy’s nervousness Hermione had the sneaking suspicion he was thinking of pink slips and budget cuts. 

However, the embossed calligraphy found a different way to make Hermione’s blood turn cold. 

“We have to go to the Ministry,” Hermione insisted, hoisting Teddy out of her lap and depositing him in her chair, Percy’s pale and shaking face nodding along beside her. Molly and the twins watched anxiously as the two nearly bolted to the Floo, Percy calling for someone to fetch their father and insist he join them. 

After several long hours shouting over other Ministry workers and department heads, Hermione and Percy - and eventually Arthur - had managed an audience with the Minister. 

Soon, Shacklebolt was explaining things simply, insisting that it wasn’t his decision and it was out of his hands. It was from the Wizengamot themselves, all of the young, new thinking individuals, and then Malfoy’s uninterested face was getting yelled at. 

“If you’d  _ listen _ ,” Malfoy said with a small, tired sigh. “You’d know that none of us came up with it either.” 

The matter had gotten passed to the Unspeakables, who refused to release their reasoning for anything, until Luna Lovegood had marched to the front of them and smiled pleasantly at Hermione’s hair. 

“The magical population is depleting, and if birth rates and breeding patterns continue, it will snuff itself out in a matter of decades,” she explained before taking on dreamily, “Your aura is a lovely fuschia, Hermione. Good things are coming to you.”

By the time the three had returned to the Burrow, the sun was rising, and all hell had broken loose. 

“Calm down, calm down,” Bill insisted as his tired father, brother and friend collapsed against dining chairs. “Let them explain, before knickers get twisted any further.”

Hermione stared at the wood grain, feeling every eye on her, and was content to collapse in on herself before a tiny body climbed up and into her lap, facing her to press his face into her shoulders. 

“He wouldn’t go to bed until he saw you were okay,” Harry said, a tired but pleased smile on his face as Hermione held onto her godson and grounded herself. 

“You okay?” Teddy asked. Hermione pressed her face into his hair, smiling at the pale pink he adopted, because he knew it was her favorite, and kissed his forehead. 

“Off to bed, you,” she said, standing and making her way to the stairs, avoiding the shocked and confused Weasleys as Teddy smiled back at her, “You’re far past your bedtime.” 

After tucking Teddy in to one of the twins’ old beds, making a few whispered promises that she was alright, that things were fine, and that she loved him very,  _ very _ much, Hermione made her way back to the kitchen. 

“It isn’t from the Minister or the Wizengamot,” she heard Percy explaining before she rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe. 

“Who’s it from, then?” Ron asked, “The Aurors didn’t hear about this.” 

“You will,” Arthur insisted with a sigh. “Probably along with the Prophet, if I had to guess.” 

“So, what?” George asked, scratching at his head with a glare, “Do we just - just go along with it?”

“For the time being,” Hermione said quietly, staring at the cracked tile in the floor. She was sure there was a story with that - there was a story with nearly everything in the house, it seemed. “Until the Unspeakables know more.” 

“In the meantime, between now and the Prophet’s arrival, I  _ must _ attend to an urgent matter,” Percy insisted as he checked his watch, grimacing at its face before nodding and popping away. 

“It affects unmarried individuals, yes?” Ginny asked, sharing a cautious glance at Hermione’s face. 

“Yes,” she said with a short, heartless laugh. “Married or engaged to be married - everyone else…”

“Fuck,” Fred announced, eloquently, sharing a look with George as Molly shot him a half-hearted glare. 

“Got it by a week,” Ron murmured in surprise, thinking of his engagement to Lavender Brown just a week ago. 

“It isn’t about you, you numpty!” Ginny exploded, hands on her hips as she stood to shout at her brother, “It’s about Charlie, Percy, Fred and George - Hermione! They’ll be affected by this - this marriage law nonsense!”

And it was nonsense, Hermione decided. Marriage between a pureblood and someone who wasn’t a pureblood was now mandated, and decided, and even when to pop out an offspring was dictated. 

“I know that!” Ron shouted back, “I was just  _ saying - ! _ ”

Harry made his way to Hermione while the others seemed to join in on the shouting or sitting back to watch, placing his hands on her shoulders and steadying her. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said, echoing her words with a sad smile, “It’s past your bedtime.”

So Hermione let herself be carted off to bed, tiredly snuggling up to Teddy and finding comfort in his tiny snores, dozing off into a peaceful sleep that spoke nothing of the future.


	2. Love, We Need It Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matches are made and very important matters are discussed. Like favorite colors. Incredibly important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to attempt to save this chapter for Tuesday, in an attempt to create some semblance of an upload schedule, but I've never been one for sticking to schedules much anyway. <3 Thank you for all of your kind words on the first chapter, it makes my return to the world of Fremione a very warm and fuzzy one.
> 
> "So show me family / all the blood that I will bleed/ I don't know where I belong / I don't know where I went wrong / but I can write a song..." - the Lumineers, "Ho Hey"

Come morning, which was only a few short hours away, shouts declaring the arrival of owls woke Hermione from her peaceful slumber. Teddy fussed, and she maneuvered him around to her side of the bed and tucking him in quietly, smiling once he settled. 

Taking no care with the state of her hair, which she was sure was dreadful, Hermione made her way downstairs and halted at the appearance of not just a few owls, but  _ dozens. _ One for each Weasley member was present and accounted for in the kitchen, and hooting and hollering as they tried to find the appropriate head of ginger hair to drop off their letters. 

Hermione wisely hung back, watching things ensue as Harry, Ron and Ginny appeared at her side. 

“Right mess in there, huh?” Ron asked, although he made no move to assist. 

“They’re giving letters to married or engaged individuals as well,” Harry said, offering Hermione his own letter. “Declaring that they’re exempt from the whole thing.” 

Hermione read it over, nodding at Harry’s summary and passing the paper back to him. Ginny then handed her another envelope, and Hermione’s heart clenched at the significance of her name emblazoned across its front. 

It wasn’t that Hermione had never wanted to get married, exactly. She’d wanted her career in a good place before she jumped back into the dating pool - or, rather, cautiously toed her way in. Dating and relationships weren’t things that she was particularly knowledgeable in, especially because it wasn’t found in books. Sure, there were articles and snippets on how to help a failing relationship, but Hermione found that often things were more personal than could be solved by a stranger who didn’t know all of the little things. Harry and Ginny had been an excellent source of feedback when her and Ron were dating, and the two spared a quick glance before announcing that it was better to just break things off before it got any worse. 

And that had been the best course of action - Hermione and Ron were still friends, practically family, and she’d even set things back up with Lavender. 

But Hermione wasn’t  _ ready, _ which was the thing, especially not if it were some stranger. 

Or not - oh God, what if it was  _ Malfoy? _

She’d vomit if it were Malfoy, she decided. 

“Alright, everyone, in the kitchen!” Molly called as soon as she had restored order, Bill chasing the owls out of the window. “Everyone got their letters?”

Hermione and the others stepped into the kitchen, where she allowed herself to be parked at the table beside Fred and George, who were staring at their envelopes like they weren’t sure if they should be laughing or crying. Hermione rather felt the same. 

“Where’s Percy?” Ginny asked, holding his envelope.

“He still hasn’t come back from last night, but the clock says he’s safe,” Molly said. She’d had a new Weasley family clock made after the war, adding Harry, Teddy, Victoire and Hermione alongside a few new locations. ‘Safe’ was an important one. “We’ll have to just get started without him, I suppose.” 

“Charlie?” Ron prodded curiously. 

“Well, he’s in Romania, isn’t he?” Bill insisted, frowning back at his brother, although it wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t particularly like Charlie going through the ordeal alone, without the meek explanation that had been given to everyone else in the early hours of the morning. “We’ll hear from him soon, I suppose.” 

“George, you first,” Molly said before halting his hands, gripping very urgently, “No matter what happens, you’ve got your family, and your health, and - ”

“Molly, let him get on with it,” Arthur insisted gently, holding her close and nodding George along. 

Hermione and Fred peered at George’s shaking hands, letting him pull the letter out and skim it over. 

“The Ministry has decreed - blah blah blah - mandatory marriage between pureblood and - blah blah blah,” he frowned, reading further. “Marriage and kids within two years - quite a window.”

Hermione paled, shooting a panicked look at Ginny, who moved closer to press a hand on her shoulder. 

“I shall be getting married to - Angelina,” he sputtered, coming up from the page and grimacing at Fred. 

Fred, who probably should be a little upset that his twin was getting married to his ex, instead busted out laughing at the look on George’s face. 

“That’s just weird!” George insisted, hollering over Fred’s giggles. 

“Well, Angelina is a nice girl,” Molly tried, although Bill and Ron were also laughing, and Harry was beginning to grin. 

“It’s  _ weird, _ Mum,” George stressed.

“This whole thing is weird,” Fred shrugged, “At least Angelina thinks you’re fit, seeing as -”

“Come off it,” George groaned, remaining ear turning red. “I haven’t seen her since you two broke up, that was ages ago. This’ll be awkward as hell.”

“Right, then, now that George’s settled,” Arthur said, calling order to the family and nodding at Fred.

Fred grimaced, ripping the envelope haphazardly and pulling the page out. George crowded at his shoulder, reading alongside him, and both seemed to freeze. 

“This entire thing is just going against the Bro Code,” George murmured as Fred rubbed a hand down his face, suddenly looking exhausted. 

“Well, Hermione, don’t bother opening yours,” Fred said as he handed her his papers, and Hermione took them in a stunned silence. Ginny leaned over her shoulder to read, nearly every jaw dropping open. 

_ Mr. Frederick Weasley, your intended is to be Ms. Hermione Granger. Please contact each other accordingly and make arrangements concerning your impending nuptials.  _

Hermione felt her mouth go dry, and Ginny was rubbing a soothing pattern into her shoulder. 

Hermione could only think of how much she knew about Fred. He was loyal to his family and friends, loved to create and invent jokes and pranks, and he enjoyed Quidditch. Other than that, she knew very little about him.

Her thoughts must have been apparent, as she could only say “I didn’t know your name was Frederick.” 

Fred gave a huff of a laughter, but before much else could be said, the backdoor opened with a bang. 

In shuffled Percy, his hair wilder than Hermione’s and bags beneath his eyes. He headed towards the cabinet where the mugs were kept, and began the process of starting coffee.

“Where on Earth have you been?” Ron crowed. 

Percy held up a finger, begging him to be patient, watching his mug until it was full to the brim. He took a long, slow,  _ loud _ slurp, and his shoulders seemed to relax. He reclined against the counter, taking in everyone watching him, and idly announced, “I’m engaged.” 

“ _ What?” _

“ _ To who?” _

“Were you even  _ dating _ anyone?” 

Percy held up a pleading hand, slurping down more of his coffee, and thumbed the handle to the mug. “I’ve been seeing someone for a few months - we didn’t want to go public just yet, but with this preposterous law it was the only way we could’ve maintained our relationship.”

Ginny, in a flurry of motion, ripped apart her brother’s envelope and began reading, brows furrowing before arching in surprise. 

“Dear Mr. Percy Weasley - as you are engaged before the announcement of of this mandate, you are hereby excused from - ”

Ginny was cut off, as Percy had pulled it from her hands to read it himself, still idly sipping at his coffee. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, blinking slowly. “They still want kids from us, which could be a problem…”

“Percy, shut it,” Hermione insisted, trying to save his arse from giving Molly a heart attack. 

But, Percy seemed to choose that day to air everything out, gave her a quick grin and a “what can you do?” shrug before blurting out, “I’m gay.” 

For once, in the Burrow, everything was so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

Up until Fred got the first word, which was very hushed, “ _ I knew it. _ ”

“How could you have possibly known?” Percy asked, back to his snobbish tone, perching his glasses back on his face. “Only person in this room who knew was Hermione, who pieced it together startlingly quickly once we started working together.”

“You’ve only ever dated Penelope Clearwater, and she came out ages ago,” Fred said. 

“So that means I’m gay?” Percy asked in confusion.

“You weren’t upset at all when she dumped you, we just thought you were an emotionless arse,” George explained. 

“So you had an agreement,” Fred continued, grinning at Percy’s growing smile from behind his mug. “Stay together to keep suspicions off of each other, then break up when one of you was ready.” 

“It didn’t start off as such, but that’s certainly what it came down to,” Percy said with a shrug. “She’s with a nice Muggleborn girl - her name’s Claire, I think.”

“Claire’s nice,” Hermione contributed, picking lint off of her jeans, “Works in Flourish and Blotts.” 

“Percy, why ever didn’t you tell us sooner?” Molly stressed, sitting down next to George with tears threatening to spill over, “Did you think - ?”

“No, Mum, of course not,” Percy said with a far more fidgety shrug, looking down into the depths of his mug, “I didn’t want it to be a big deal - my career and the work I’m doing is far more important to me than if I fancy boys or girls.” 

“Well, it’s a big deal when you come out and announce an engagement all at once,” Bill pointed out with a weary sigh. “So - who’s the bloke?”

“No more surprises from me today, thank you,” Percy clipped. 

“Hermione knows, don’t you?” Bill asked, looking at her archly as she clenched her jaw and stared ahead. 

“You know, I think Teddy could use a park day,” she said, leaping from her chair and brushing by everyone, taking the stairs two at a time to avoid them all. This was a family conversation, and Percy’s conversation, and her involvement wasn’t necessary at all. 

Plus, she needed time to wrap her head around everything, and Teddy knew how to distract her so she wouldn’t worry.

By the time he was awake and dressed, Hermione was carrying him down the stairs cautiously, listening for anything coming from the kitchen. With a smile at the silence, Hermione walked in to grab some snacks for the little boy to take along to the park. 

“You know it’s my week to have him, right?” Harry asked from the pantry, offering a pack of fruit snacks with a smile as she startled. 

“I need the distraction,” she insisted, taking them and an offered juice pouch, “Teddy’s great at distractions.” 

“You’ll need to talk to them all eventually,” Harry said, stepping out from the pantry and shutting the door behind him, “Especially Fred.” 

“Where is everyone, anyway?” Hermione asked as she dodged the conversation, packing things away in Teddy’s bag. 

“Went to meet Charlie at the Ministry, he’s taking a Portkey in, they’re hoping to calm him down and explain things as soon as possible,” Harry said, ruffling up the little boy’s hair as he came to stand between them. The green strands turned bright pink, and Harry only grinned down at him. “I said I’d stay to talk to you.” 

“I don’t need talking to, Harry,” Hermione insisted, hoisting Teddy up and onto her hip. “I just - I love the Weasleys, don’t get me wrong, but they can be a lot. They ask questions I can’t answer, and my brain needs to figure things out first.”

“I understand - I went from the Dursleys to the Weasleys, you can imagine how long it took me to adjust,” Harry said with a laugh. “Just don’t be too hard on yourself about these things.” At her curious look, Harry continued with a shrug. “You’ll be dealing with a lot in the coming year or two, and I know how you are when you feel you don’t meet certain standards. Just - take care of yourself, alright?”

Hermione smiled, heading towards the backdoor, “I will Harry, I promise.” 

Harry shot her a worried smile, which was a look Harry had seemed to perfect, and she waved as the backdoor shut.

Eager to try to settle her mind, Hermione turned to the little boy, who’d gone uncharacteristically silent, and chuckled to see him fast asleep against her shoulder. Deciding that the park would be best for the afternoon, Hermione twisted and took them to her apartment, where she let Teddy snooze while she did chores around the place. The Muggle way, of course, because what good was cleaning as a distraction if you could just wave your wand and have things sort themselves out?

Which was why, near noon, she answered the door in a ratty t-shirt and shorts, expecting the pizza man and instead finding a tall, double-eared Weasley twin. 

“I have never seen you in that shirt before, and I’m sure all your shirts come from Harry and Ron,” Fred declared, squinting down at the logo across her chest. “What’s rugby?”

“It’s a Muggle sport, and my dad’s old shirt - what are you doing here?” Hermione questioned, peering up at him suspiciously. 

“Well, we need to talk about things, don’t we?” Fred said as though he were there to discuss the weather and not things like mandated marriages. 

“Now isn’t a good time,” Hermione blurted before grimacing at his pointed look, “Well, alright, I suppose now would be a great time, but I’m just not - not - ”

Her hands fluttered, and Hermione glared at nothing in particular, because she couldn’t find the words and that annoyed her. 

“Easy now, I’m not here to lay out every single thing and demand a decision today,” Fred insisted, wedging himself past her and into her living room, knowing that she was suddenly preoccupied with the pizza man and couldn’t stop him. He turned once the door shut, and she was frowning at him, holding the box in her hands. He grinned, splaying his hands out placatingly, “I just think we should talk, is all. Considering you’ve been around my house nearly every year since you were twelve, there’s very little I know about you.” 

Hermione hummed, mulling it over, but ultimately the smell of pizza won out and she deposited the box on the table, waving at Fred to help himself as she went to go and rouse up Teddy.

Teddy, at the bright age of 3, already had his favorites picked out and accounted for. Harry and Ginny, obviously, as well as Hermione, as he spent the most time around the three of them. Ron he was alright with, but only if he was near Harry or teaching him some new Quidditch term and demonstrating with his figures. Bill rather scared him, and he had a hard time understanding Fleur properly, and Victoire was still in the age where she wasn’t very much fun to play with. Charlie, whom he saw on occasion, would spend time showing him the various dragons he took care of via those living figurines, so once he was remembered Teddy warmed right up. Percy, as hard as he tried, just didn’t hold the little boy’s interest.

Fred and George, however? Teddy  _ adored. _

“Uncle Fred!” Teddy hollered, fighting to be put down immediately while Hermione was focused on not dropping the squirmy toddler, and Fred immediately crouched down to catch him at full throttle. 

“There’s my favorite nephew!” Fred declared, immediately holding him up by his ankles and swinging him around, “I have not seen you in ages!”

“You saw me yesterday, Uncle Fred,” Teddy giggled, Hermione watching as Teddy’s hair went through a rainbow of colors before settling on a bright, vibrant purple. 

“So I did! My memory’s a bit shoddy, you’ll have to keep a close eye on me soon enough, young Tedster,” Fred insisted, hoisting him up and catching him in midair, giving a cheeky wink at Hermione’s worried noise. 

“I’ll grow up and help you at the shop!” Teddy crowed, taking his hands and squishing Fred’s face, something he did whenever he was excited. “We can make toys, and I can play with them and make them go  _ bang! _ ”

“There’s pizza,” Hermione redirected, successfully directing Teddy’s attention to food and grinning when Fred had to deal with a squirming toddler as well. 

Once Teddy was situated and pizza was passed around, Teddy seemed to notice something. 

“Why are you here at Aunty’s house, Fred?” Teddy asked, kicking his feet as he looked between the two innocently. 

Hermione grimaced. Teddy was too perceptive. 

“I wanted to talk to her,” Fred said, ignoring Hermione’s grimace and turning to face the toddler with a beaming grin. “If I give you a product to try, will you let me talk to your Aunt Hermione alone about boring, yucky grown up stuff?”

Teddy lit up at the promise of product testing, and Hermione made all sorts of irritated noises, but he crammed the crust of his pizza in his mouth and nodded furiously. Fred passed him something palm sized, fuzzy and teal, and rushed him along with the item. At Hermione’s glare, Fred only grinned.

“It’s a pom-pom off of Victoire’s hat, I stuffed it in my pocket for safe-keeping and forgot to give it to Fleur or Bill,” he explained, and Hermione relaxed - if only marginally. 

“So, you wanted to talk?” Hermione prodded. She had no idea where to begin, or if she even wanted to begin, but Fred was already patting through his pockets and pulling out scraps of parchment. At her bewildered gaze, he pulled out nearly a dozen and spread them out across the table.

“Question one - what is your favorite color?” he asked, before looking up at her and giving a very accurate impression of Percy looking over his glasses imploringly. 

Hermione sputtered, blinking at him in surprise. “That’s what you came all this way for? My favorite color?”

“Among other things,” he assured casually. 

Hermione snorted, reclining back in her seat, and tore off another bite of pizza. “Periwinkle,” she said around her mouthful. 

Fred’s eyes lit up, and he gave a smile that said he was keeping something to himself before he hurriedly scribbled something down, “Excellent - favorite season?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking another bite, “Autumn.” 

  
Fred hummed, nodding pensively before scribbling something down. 

“Are they all like this?” she asked. 

“I know very little about you,” he insisted. “As you do about me - you didn’t even know my first name was Frederick. You could stand to ask a few questions too, you know.” 

“It’s the longest Weasley name,” she said idly as she thought of what to ask. “Longer than Ginevra.” 

“Bill is William, and Charlie is actually Charles,” he pointed out. “Percy is Percy, however, so he had no other option. Mum and Dad did a right number on him, I suppose, but he was a prat for a bit, so he probably deserved it.” 

“Percy and George are the only ones who don’t go by nicknames,” Hermione hummed. 

“George is actually Georgios,” Fred declared.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave a grin. 

“What was your favorite subject at Hogwarts?” she asked, ripping apart the pizza crust for something to do with her hands. 

“Really?” Fred snorted, shooting her a look before pointing to his head, “There’s plenty of juicy, waiting-to-be-told secrets up here and you ask which class I liked best?” 

“I think it had to have been Charms,” she stated.

He gave her a long, perceptive look before sighing and looking heavenward. “Transfiguration, actually, though Charms is a close second.” 

“Mine’s Transfiguration as well,” Hermione hummed. 

“D’you have any siblings?” Fred questioned, shrugging at Hermione’s blink. “You’ve never mentioned any, but I thought it’d be safe to ask.”

“No, I’m an only child,” Hermione said, shaking her head and biting her lip. “Favorite ice cream at Fortescue’s?”

“Mint chip and peanut butter,” he said before grinning at Hermione’s disgusted face. “It’s actually orange and lemon, but I love the look on people’s faces when I tell them that.”

They went back and forth for a while, Fred soon abandoning the pretense of scribbling his notes and instead reclining against the table as they spoke.

Hermione had had a pet duck as a child that had lived on her grandparent’s farm. George had broken his wrist at seven, and Fred had attempted to do the same so they could match. Hermione’s favorite memory from Hogwarts was the snowball fights or the parties after Quidditch games, and Fred admitted that he would’ve liked to have been a Chaser at school, but Beater had suited both him and George better anyway. 

“It’s not that I mind being a part of a set, and all,” he said, stacking remaining slices into a pyramid and frowning when they fell over. “It’s just that it’s a lot harder to get people to see you apart from that set.”

Hermione snorted, returning from grabbing sodas from her fridge and sliding one across the table to Fred. “Don’t I know it? Ever since first year, I’m always Harry and Ron’s friend, or the girl, or part of our team, or something - just once, I’d appreciate it if someone could see me apart from the boys. My accomplishments are not theirs and vice versa.”

Fred grimaced and scratched his ear, “Might be guilty of that.” 

“You’ll get a pass, just the one, and then I’m going to start taking House points,” Hermione tutted as she popped the top of her can. 

Fred laughed, then looked puzzled before grinning, “Sounds fair enough. Besides, I’m certain you only ever saw me as a Weasley twin.”

Hermione turned pensive, mulling it over before shaking her head. “Actually, no. While I may not have known much about you, you and George were always individuals to me.” At his disbelieving look, Hermione waved her hand flippantly. “You know - George is the more quiet one, he studies people before speaking out. You were more prone to steering a conversation and getting people to see things your way.” 

Fred stared at her, and Hermione shrugged as she avoided his gaze. 

This gaze avoidance was made easier by Teddy, grumpily entering the room and climbing up into Hermione’s lap, presenting the forlorn pom-pom to her.

“Make it work,” he insisted, and Hermione shot a look to Fred, but he still looked like he was studying her.

“I don’t think it’s meant to work, sweetheart,” Hermione said, taking it from him and holding it carefully in the palm of her hands. “But I’m glad that you tried.” 

“Is that the prank, Uncle Fred?” Teddy crowed, turning to pout at the Weasley twin, who quickly donned a cheeky grin. “It isn’t supposed to work?”

“You got me, Teddy, you’re far too smart for my tricks,” Fred declared, and Teddy immediately beamed at the praise. “Next time, I’ll give you something that is meant to work.” 

Hermione shot him a glare, and wasn’t disappointed to see him stand and gather his scraps of notes. 

“Well, it was nice catching up, Granger,” Fred said, clapping his hands as if he were ridding them of imaginary dust. “But I’m afraid I need to check on George and see how things went with Angelina.”

Hermione grimaced - from what she’d heard, it hadn’t necessarily been an amicable split between Fred and the former Gryffindor chaser, but she hadn’t been close enough to receive any details. Even Ron had been given the bare minimum, and she could hardly blame the twins for their need for privacy. She hadn’t exactly been shouting from the rooftops that her last relationship had failed or for what reason. 

“None of that - water under the bridge,” Fred shrugged easily, and for some reason she felt that he meant it. “Now - are you free on Tuesday? I do half days at the shop on Tuesdays.”

“What?” Hermione blinked. 

“I’m not about to dive headfirst into a marriage without knowing the essentials, and I’m not talking about your favorite color or season or Hogwarts subject,” he insisted, “It’ll make knowing the big things easier if I know more little things.”

Hermione was trying to wrap her head around his logic when Teddy gasped, loudly, having only caught on to a snippet of the conversation. 

“Mawwage?” he exclaimed, and Hermione was reminded briefly of one of her favorite movies as a child before Teddy’s excitement reclaimed her attention. “Who’s getting married?!”

Fred blanched, quickly realizing his mistake, and clutched Teddy out of Hermione’s grasp to catapult him in the air. “Lots of people are, Tedster! Every day! We live in a world full of happy times now, why you wouldn’t believe - ”

“I do lunch at noon on Tuesdays, and get off work around 5 if I can help it,” Hermione stated, standing and cleaning up a bit of the mess from lunch. “You’re right - we do need to...make this as painless as possible,” she said, looking up to see Fred staring at her, as if she were a ghost. “It’s the mature thing to do,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting his stare head on.

“I’ve just never heard you say anyone was right, let alone you saying it to me, of all people,” Fred said with a tiny smile, quickly passing Teddy back to her as the little boy tried to decipher more of their conversation. “Noon on Tuesday, I’ll meet you at the Ministry.”

“That works, thanks, Fred,” Hermione said, nodding as Fred left with a wave and saw himself out. 

“Who’s getting married?” Teddy asked again, frowning when Hermione gave a deep sigh. 

“Lots of people, and soon,” Hermione repeated with a frown. She still needed to check on Percy, but perhaps first of all was to wrap her mind around the whole mess. It still hadn’t entirely sunk in. She shook her head, donning an easy smile as she turned to her godson. “How do you feel about going to the park?”

All discussions of marriage were out of the window, and Teddy was squirming to be put down so he could gather his shoes and any toys he wanted to take while Hermione got ready. 

If all else failed, she could just ignore things until Tuesday. 

Or ignore things forever, she hadn’t really decided yet.


	3. A Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and sushi go hand in hand with talks of the past and secrets, don't they? No? Hmm....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be discouraged if my updates become sparse for a bit - for some reason, my professors hate me. How do I know this? They assign everything to be due the end of November, when finals are supposed to be the second week of December. By everything, I mean everything. I'm filled with unbridled rage, and coffee. What was I saying? Anyway - don't fret, I'll return sooner rather than later. <3
> 
> "And as the world comes to an end/ I'll be here to hold your hand/ 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lion-heart" - Of Monsters and Men, "King and Lionheart"

Hermione herself was an independent, stubborn individual. If you told her what to do and she didn’t want to listen, she would give you hell for it. It was how she was raised, really - never put up with people if they give you the go around. Unless they were professors. Or her Gran on her mum’s side. 

So when the marriage law was declared over the weekend, Hermione - surprisingly - had taken Monday off. She’d still been attempting to wrap her head around it, and quickly realized by Tuesday morning that she’d had no such luck in doing so by remaining in bed and reading Muggle works. So she’d hauled herself out of bed and faced the day - not necessarily head on, but she did face it, and that had to stand for something.

“I’d thought I’d have to call on Harry and Ron today,” Percy said casually as he stood before one of many filing cabinets, clipboard in hand and glasses perched on the tip of his nose. They’d been assigned the arduous task of clearing useless files out and reorganizing pertinent ones. Hermione had a running theory that the wizarding world had a surplus of parchment and didn’t know how else to use it up, and their work was proof of that. 

“Why would you have to call Harry and Ron?” Hermione asked as she shed her coat and reclaimed her cup of coffee, inhaling it’s soothing aroma. 

“You took a day off, you never do that,” Percy snorted, shooting her a teasing glance. Hermione scrunched her nose and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. 

Since working together, Hermione had discovered a new side of Percy that she hadn’t seen before the war. His sarcastic comments could often be humorous, and downright scathing if he felt like it. He’d even taken to keeping up a running commentary on the files they sorted, and they often spent the days going back and forth on the ludicrousy that they found. He was particularly malicious to those who misused proper punctuation. Hermione found it hilarious. 

“I couldn’t think,” she admitted, standing beside him and regarding their work for the day. 

“I understand,” Percy said, and she knew he did. He’d ran out and avoided the very thing that was plaguing her, and she couldn’t really blame him.

So she shrugged, and they got to work in silence. They spent several hours like that, passing files off in stacks and perusing them for anything of significance. Hermione had been reading about proper signage in 1603 when Percy finally spoke again, muffled into his fist. 

“Heard you met with Fred,” he said, turning the page on his file of mandated housework spells that witches in the late 1800s had been instructed to learn to “better themselves as future wives and mothers.” They’d had to trade. It’d made Hermione mad. 

Hermione hummed. 

“And?” Percy prodded. 

“It went fine,” she said, thinking for a moment before checking her watch. 11:24. “I’m meeting him at noon, actually.” 

Percy lifted his head and stared at her quizzically. While he didn’t voice it, Hermione felt a conversation coming, and sighed and set her paperwork in her lap. 

“It’s just...unexpected,” Percy said delicately. “You aren’t who I thought he’d go for.”

“Well, I’m not,” Hermione declared with a simple shrug, “The Ministry matched us together, didn’t they?”

“True, but…” Percy must have lost a conclusion, and shrugged as well. “How’re you feeling about it?” 

“Numb, honestly,” she said, picking at a nail with a frown. “I can’t wrap my head around it. I didn’t expect to be getting married so soon, and to not have a say in it.”

Percy nodded, tilting his head in understanding and folding his arms over his chest comfortably, slinking down in his chair. “Understandable. I’m trying to badger the Unspeakables into releasing their matching system in order to piece things together, but so far they’ve given me nothing.”

“They don’t quite like you, Percy,” Hermione said with a soft smile. Percy gave a shrug, unperturbed. He was quite alright with being disliked.

“Now, that sounds preposterous,” a voice called, and Hermione twisted in her wingback chair to blink at Fred, picking over papers on her cluttered desk in the corner. Percy snorted, not even righting his posture, rolling his eyes at his brother. “Who wouldn’t like Percy?”

“Get away from there, that’s not yours,” Hermione demanded with a frown, scooting her file onto an end table that Percy lazily conjured and standing. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at noon,  _ at the atrium. _ ”

“I was done early, and the atrium is so boring,” Fred insisted with a pout. He turned his gaze to his brother, lifted a brow, and asked, “Neville Longbottom?”

Percy gave a hefty sigh, furrowed his brows, and settled a heavy glare on the twin. “No,” he gritted.

Fred shrugged, and Hermione glanced between the two.

“He’s trying to guess who I’m engaged to,” Percy explained simply, crossing his legs at the ankles now. If he had an outfit change and a pair of shades instead of spectacles, he would’ve looked like he was on vacation in the tropics. “He’s guessed Seamus Finnegan and Malfoy too, if you’re curious.”

“I’m filtering through people you’d be worried to mention to your family, who love and worry about you and your happiness,” Fred declared, as if he were reciting Molly herself. He probably was. 

“Seamus and Neville aren’t worrisome, nor gay,” Hermione said simply as she gathered her coat and empty coffee cup. It looked like the only way to drag Fred out of their domain was if she accompanied him, and she was hardly upset to be departing a whole - she checked her watch - thirty minutes earlier than expected. “Seamus is bi, anyways,” she mentioned as she dug her hair out from under the collar of her coat.

“So the man is confirmed to be gay,” Fred hummed, putting his hand on his chin in a pensive manner. 

“Get him out or I’m starting a fight,” Percy declared casually, uncrossing his ankles and arching his brows as Fred grinned. 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Hermione said, taking Fred’s arm and steering him towards the door. “Honestly - he’ll tell you when he wants, don’t antagonize him.”

“But can you imagine how funny his face would look if I guessed it?” he grinned, peering down at her as she stuffed him in the lift. Hermione pressed the button that would take them to the ground level, and waited as she regarded the passing numbers. “Err...how are you?” Fred asked after a thoughtful silence, and Hermione blinked and turned to look up at him. 

“I’m...good,” Hermione answered lamely, and she watched Fred’s face reignite with a grin that caused her to match it. “And you?” 

“As good as I can be in an enclosed space,” he remarked casually, and Hermione blanched. 

Turns out waking up in your own coffin would result in an accompanying fear of closed spaces, as one could expect. Fred had had a relatively easy time of avoiding such spaces, yet it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe shoving him into a small, metal box traveling at high speeds and making jerking, shuttering halts before hurtling onwards wouldn’t have been the best idea. 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Hermione began, but Fred waved it away effortlessly. 

“No worries, how do you think I got down to your neck of the woods anyway?” he said with a shrug, “So long as I have something to preoccupy my thoughts, I’m good. I did chatter off the ear of the old lady I was in here previously with, but you’re far more understanding.” 

“I hardly doubt she minded,” she reassured, and Fred chuckled when the lift finally stopped, and he strode out into the atrium with her at his side. “Anywhere you have in mind for lunch?”

“Where do you usually go?” he asked instead. 

“This little cafe around the corner, they make great sandwiches,” Hermione said, and led him there as soon as he seemed interested. 

Once they opened the door, Hermione inhaled the scent of fresh coffee deeply, appreciating the roaring sound of milk being steamed for some hot drink. She moved her way to her usual table, already shedding her coat, and waved to the barista who had looked up to see who had entered. The girl, who was studying an English degree at a Muggle university and would often pick Hermione’s brain for her thoughts on various authors, gave a smile and nod and went back to frothing the milk, knowing Hermione well enough that she’d be able to sort things out herself. 

“Do you come here often?” Fred asked, as he had watched the exchange in the midst of taking off his own coat.

“Mornings and lunch,” Hermione admitted, somewhat guiltily. “I’ve become a bit of a coffee addict, the barista lets me try new recipes before they put them on the specials board for the week.” 

“Anything you’d recommend?” Fred asked, sitting down beside her and peering at the menu, written on a chalkboard and hung up on the wall. 

“The Love Potion,” she said before coughing at his amused, curious expression. “It’s got white chocolate, caramel and cinnamon. It’s very sweet, so it’s good for people who don’t particularly want the taste of the coffee itself, but want something a little different.”

“Hey, Hermione!” the barista said, appearing at the table with a notepad in hand, smiling genially. “The usual?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said with minimal embarrassment. 

“And for your friend?” she asked with a nod of the head towards Fred, who was still peering at the menu with a lost expression. “There’s quite a lot up there, don’t feel bad for feeling overwhelmed.”

“There’s not enough time in the world for me to figure this out, so I’ll have whatever Hermione’s having,” Fred said with a shrug, although he was still staring at the board like it had personally offended him, “Though I’ll take a Love Potion. The coffee, not the potion.” 

The girl laughed, pocketing the notebook and whisking away back behind the counter. 

“She’s nice, what’s her name?” Fred asked casually as he righted himself to face Hermione head on.

“I haven’t a clue, and I’ve been coming here for ages,” Hermione said with a sigh. “So - you wanted to talk more?”

“Not necessarily talk, more just...hang out,” Fred said lamely, shrugging as he took to reorganizing the napkins on the table, peering down at the offered sweetener packets. “How’s work?”

“Dull,” Hermione huffed, smiling at Fred’s grin. “What about you? I didn’t know you got half days off.”

“Well, yeah, we try to talk a half day each, George and I,” he shrugged, ruffling up his hair. It’d gotten longer, and needed a trim, as it was beginning to get a bit shaggy, yet it rather suited him. “Since we both work long hours on Saturdays, it seemed necessary for our sanities. Or, what’s remaining.”

“Merlin knows that must remain intact,” Hermione said, grinning when she got Fred to laugh. It felt rather like an accomplishment - her, the studious bookworm, getting the prankster to laugh. It felt a little rebellious. “How’s George?”

Fred snorted, picking at a divet in the table, grinning down at it, “He’s being weird. Seems to think that I’ll be offended about him and Ang - which I’m not, obviously. He’s just walking on eggshells around me now.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, and she leaned across the table to recapture his gaze. “Have you explained things to him? He certainly didn’t choose her any more than you did me.”

“Nah, it’s funny,” he insisted, laughing at her glare, “George has never been nervous around me before - it’s different. He’ll pull his head out of his arse eventually.” 

“Alright, here’s the sandwiches, Love Potion Number 9, and the Mocha Orange,” the barista announced, swiftly setting everything on the table between them, Hermione leaning back to allow for the space yet still maintaining her glare at Fred, who seemed giddy at such a reaction. “If there’s anything else I can get for you, just let me know!” the girl insisted before she seemed to halt in her next footsteps, twirling back and switching gears. “Oh, Hermione, real quick - do you know anything about Neville Longbottom?”

“He’s not gay,” Fred answered, and Hermione gave him a swift kick in the shin before turning to smile sweetly at the girl. 

“That’s - that’s good to know,” she said, eyeing Fred in confusion before turning back to Hermione, “I got matched to him, you see, but I don’t know much about him.” 

“Oh, Neville was in my year and House at school, he’s great,” Hermione insisted as she watched Fred take a cautious sip from his cup out of the corner of her eye. “He’s the Herbology professor at Hogwarts now, I believe.” 

“Was Auror for a spell, but quit as soon as the rest of the Death Eaters were rounded up,” Fred offered. 

“So he’s okay?” the girl reiterated. 

“Yes - he’s a good friend, and if he gives you any trouble at all, you tell him that he’s got a few harsh words coming from me,” Hermione reassured, smiling when the girl laughed and told them to enjoy their lunch before hastening back behind the counter.

“You really don’t know her name, do you?” Fred remarked casually, taking the lid off of his cup and peering down at the liquid sloshing beneath. 

“Haven’t a clue, and it’s far too late to ask her for it,” she sighed. “I know she was a Hufflepuff a few years below me, and what she’s studying for and where, but not much else.”

“Could ask Neville for it,” he said with a shrug, swiping her cup before she could drink from it and popping the lid off to inhale. He thought over the scent, nodded, and sipped from it. “Yours is better.”

“Because it’s mine, now give it back,” Hermione said with a huff, glaring when he passed the cup back and swiveled around to peer back at the menu. “Mocha Orange - you can get it next time you come here and not steal mine.” 

“It’s not on the menu,” he remarked. 

“They take things off the menu on occasion, but will still make it on request.”

“You mean this thing has had things  _ removed _ from it?” he asked in surprise, Hermione quickly shushing him, although she heard a short laugh from the barista anyways. “Insanity. I need to try each one.” 

“Fred, that would likely take you years,” Hermione insisted with a sigh. 

“A worthy challenge,” he said with a shrug, nonchalantly swiping her drink once more and taking a sip. Hermione rolled her eyes, claiming his, and gave him nothing when he gave her a cheeky grin. “How else would I know which is my favorite?” 

“What else do you have for today?” she asked instead, diving into her sandwich as she awaited a response. 

“Chores - laundry, dusting, that sort of thing,” he said with a shrug, biting into his own sandwich and nodding in approval. “I’ll likely take a crack at a charm that’s giving me trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” Hermione asked, gears already turning. 

“Don’t bother - it’s given me a headache for months,” he insisted, giving a frustrated sigh. “It’s meant to mimic the voice of others - like professors, or your mates or your mum or something - but every time I make it, they sound like an old, grainy recording of the person.” 

Hermione hummed, chewing thoughtfully before saying, “You could break down spells of the opposite nature and tweak them - like muffliato.”

“And instead of the intense buzzing in the ears, I could make things clearer,” Fred mused, chin in hand as he thought. “It’s a thought, for sure.” 

“Let me know how it goes, I can dig through some research to help,” she offered, looking up from her meal to find Fred’s perplexed gaze. “What?”

“You do realize you’ve just offered to help me with a product for my shop, right?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “My  _ joke _ shop?”

“I’m well aware of where you work, Fred,” Hermione deadpanned. 

“You  _ hate _ our jokes,” he insisted definitively, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he sat back to regard her, as though she’d lost her head. 

“I do not - I hated you two testing them on first years,” she said. 

“We paid them.”

“Well then of  _ course _ they’ll agree if you pay them,” she huffed, shifting in her seat. “Most of them had no idea what they were agreeing to half of the time.”

“We explained the effects completely,” he said before faltering at her strong gaze. “Most of the time, at least - unless it would’ve spoiled the joke.” 

“I think that the products that you and George have invented are wonderful, and I’m proud to see your shop succeed,” she explained simply, and Fred returned to gazing at her like he was concerned for her mental health. “I just - I don’t know - sometimes the younger ones just jump in. Especially Muggleborns - the only kind of magic we’d known of at the time were things like what Cinderella’s godmother does.”

“Who?” he questioned. 

“It - well - another time,” Hermione insisted flippantly, waving her hand through the question, “My point is, when the only things you know about magic are floating feathers and singing hats, you’ll agree to anything.”   
  


“I never thought of it like that,” Fred hummed before taking another drink of his stolen coffee. “You know we tested things on ourselves first, right? Tests on other students were just to gauge public reaction.” 

“I rather hoped so, at least,” she shrugged before pausing. “Do you still test things on yourselves?” 

“Well we can’t just go up to a stranger and say ‘oy, drink this,’ now can we?” he snorted. 

“You could pay somebody who would test things for you,” she offered. “Wait - haven’t you got a product that inflicts boils?”

“Testing stage was real nasty for that one,” Fred answered flippantly. “We flipped a galleon though, so my skin remained blemish-free. Well, unless you count freckles and war scars, but let’s just say - ”

“Don’t you have a product that makes it look like someone has rotting, blackened teeth?” Hermione asked, her face in her hands at the memory. 

“Alright, yeah, that one was me,” he admitted shamelessly, shrugging casually. “Had a date with a bird that week too - you can imagine how that went.”

“That one gave me nightmares,” she said, opening her hands to shoot him a glare, to which he grinned gleefully at. 

“Normally, I wish my products to inspire laughter and smiles,” he said before regarding her cheekily, “However your glares and huffs are probably the most I’ll get from you, and it shall have to suffice.” 

“Certainly so when the first product I picked up in your shop punched me in the eye without warning,” she reminded, grinning at his wince. 

“I said I was  _ sorry _ , Hermione,” he insisted.

“Wasn’t even a label on the display,” she said coolly as she took a sip, mainly to hide her smile. “Nothing to warn my poor, unsuspecting eye as to what fate had in store.”

“I gave you bruise paste,” he said, rubbing his face at the memory. 

“Merely an innocent, only sixteen,” she tutted. 

Fred pulled his hands away from his face, regarding her strangely. “That was before your sixth year, yeah?” She nodded, taking a bite before he continued. “Isn’t your birthday during the school year?” She nodded again. “How old  _ are _ you?” he asked with a gape, leaving Hermione to chuckle with her mouth full. “Are you - wait, hang on - ” Fred seemed to do the mental math by looking up at the ceiling, abruptly turning back to stare at her in awe. “You’re only a year younger than George and I.”

“Technically, yeah,” she shrugged, as she’d finished her bite by the time he’d reached his answer. 

“I have no idea who you are anymore,” he fretted, worrying his hands through his hair while she laughed. “You’ve suddenly aged since we entered this coffee shop, and my mind is spinning.” 

“I’ve hardly changed in the span of - ” Hermione checked her watch, “ - Twenty-five minutes.” 

“You could’ve been in an entirely different year of Gryffindors,” he wondered, musing allowed by now as Hermione resumed eating. “You wouldn’t likely be friends with Harry or Ron.” 

“This is likely true,” she shrugged, unperturbed. 

“How odd,” Fred hummed. “I wonder what kind of person you would be instead.”

“Annoying,” she answered, rolling her eyes at his confused stare. “Come off it - I know how bad I was back then. Without friends, I’d be worse. I’d be like Percy before the War.” 

“Likely true, but who says you wouldn’t have friends?” he asked. 

“Harry and Ron were only friends with me because of the troll incident, and everyone else was only friends with me because of Harry and Ron,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Well, except Neville, but we likely wouldn’t have been friends due to being in different years.”

“I would be friends with you,” Fred vowed. 

“Liar,” she snorted, “You thought I was annoying too, don’t lie.”

“You constantly shooting down our pranks was annoying, yeah, but you weren’t,” Fred insisted. “I’m serious! You were smart and had a good wit - well, you still do - you’d be valuable to have around in case of good, decent comebacks.” 

“I am particularly scathing,” she nodded, sharing a smile with him. “Well, thank you for the sentiment, but things worked out the way they did, so I doubt there’s need for further ponderings.” 

Lunch continued simply, swapping small stories from childhood back and forth, before time was up and they stood to exit the cafe. 

“Want me to walk you back to the office?” Fred offered, standing and tugging on his coat. 

“For Percy’s sanity, I’ll have to decline,” Hermione said, smiling when Fred chuckled. “Enjoy the rest of your day off, then - and let me know how that charm works out.” 

At the reminder, Fred’s face soured and he scowled. It was such an odd expression upon his face, that Hermione had to laugh. “Alright - but if things aren’t working out properly I’m heading to stand outside your office until 5.” 

“Then you’ll be buying me dinner,” she insisted. 

“A truly dreadful act, how malicious you are, Miss Granger,” he deadpanned before snorting and smiling, heading towards the door with a wave over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Hermione! Goodbye, kind yet nameless barista!”

At the mention, the barista lifted her head and stared in bewilderment after him. Hermione stifled her laugh, and had to bite her lip when the barista turned her gaze over to Hermione.

“You didn’t tell him my name?” she asked curiously, a hint of a smile on her face as she straightened from where she was leaning over the counter. As Hermione got closer, she could see a textbook laid open, a finger marking her place. 

“I’ll let him live in confusion,” Hermione answered, loathed to admit that she had no clue what the poor girl’s name was. 

She chuckled anyway, grinning brightly at her, “You know, it’s funny. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the way you two talked and laughed and joked around - it’s like you’ve been together forever.” 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and her brow furrowed, and she had no earthly idea as to how to respond to that. Thankfully, she was saved by the barista closing her textbook and settling it back into her bag behind the counter. 

“I’m a little jealous - it seems like you two will have it easy,” she said with a shrug, like she was talking about the weather and not trying to throw Hermione’s carefully structured world off-kilter. “Anyway - I know you need to get back, but here - take one for the road.” 

She handed Hermione another cup of coffee, a replacement for the one Fred had stolen, and Hermione smiled and wished her a good day before stepping back out onto the street. 

What an odd and silly thing to say - her and Fred were simply familiar with each other, and that was that. 

She said so when she reunited herself with Percy, and was left with him silently staring back at her. 

“I am making the decision to refuse a comment,” he announced after a few silent minutes.

“Percy!” she shouted, aghast. “That’s not - that’s - that’s - ”

“She’s not saying you’re star-crossed lovers who’ve had a secret affair for years, Hermione,” he answered simply, shrugging as he moved their organized piles of the day’s work around the room. “Just that you get along well - there’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s preferable in this situation.” 

“I suppose,” Hermione admitted, chewing on her lip in thought. “She said she’s gotten paired with Neville - and I love Neville, don’t get me wrong, but I highly doubt he’s come out of his shell to her yet.” 

“It’ll take time - not everybody’s gotten paired to people they’ve known since the age of eleven,” Percy said simply. 

“Or managed to avoid the whole thing altogether,” she said with a teasing smile. 

“Yeah, those lucky bastards,” Percy tsked, grinning when Hermione laughed. 

Work continued easily, with the files Hermione reviewing being lengthy and rather informative on the goblin uprising of the early 1600s. She always felt better about their work when they happened upon something interesting or useful - not that what they were doing wasn’t incredibly useful, of course, as their boss and department heads and even Kingsley had insisted. She’d started off in the Apparition Testing Centre, but she’d rather been a distraction to those attempting to apparate, what with being somewhat of a celebrity, so she’d been moved to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee before being asked to take her current job alongside Percy. She was assured that once their work was done, they’d be moving on to bigger and better things. 

By the end of the day, Hermione had shelved her paperwork and gathered her things, and happily bid Percy goodbye. She opened the door and stepped outside to halt abruptly, staring down at the sullen redhead sitting in the floor against the opposite wall. 

“What do you want for dinner?” Fred asked irritably. 

Hermione tried to smother her smile, and found it rather hard. “Did it not work?” 

“I wouldn’t be here asking for your help if it had, now would I?” he snarked, standing and making his way towards her, grabbing her coat and holding it open for her to slide her arms through. 

“Have you ever had sushi?” she asked instead, tugging her hair out of the collar of her coat. 

“Nope, but I’ll try anything once,” he said, offering her his arm, “Lead us - I’m too frustrated to do it properly.” 

Hermione apparated the pair of them, in an alley outside of the restaurant, patting down her hair from the wind. 

“Is it Muggle?” Fred asked as he took in their surroundings, frowning when Hermione nodded. “I don’t have Muggle money on me.”

“Why would you - oh,” Hermione scoffed as she remembered their deal, “I was only joking - come on, I’ll pay.” 

“I’ll pay you back,” he insisted as he followed her in, holding open the door for her and smothering a laugh when her hair blew around her face. 

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” she said before turning and pointing to a broad menu on the wall beside them. 

Fred groaned, rubbing his eyes, “What’s with these places and their giant menus?” 

“It’s not giant,” Hermione defended.

“There’s fifty things on this.” 

“Fifty isn’t a lot for a restaurant menu.” 

“I’m too - my brain can’t do this, Hermione.”   
  


“Do you want me to order for you?” she offered simply. She knew the feeling - when she’d been studying for her N.E.W.T.s, Ginny had had to make simple decisions for her, such as dinner choices or which subject to tackle next. Fred nodded, and Hermione marched her way up to the counter. Ten minutes later, she was being handed bags of styrofoam take-out containers, and she handed one to Fred to hold so she could grip his arm and apparate to the twins’ flat. 

Hermione had only been to the twins’ flat once, when she, Ron, Ginny and Harry had volunteered to help fix up the shop after the war alongside the rest of the Weasleys. The flat was directly above the shop, and at the time had been entirely gutted. There had been no furniture, windows had been shattered, and walls had been punched clean through - the shop below had been no different. 

Now, however, it looked far better. There was a mismatched living room set that greeted them, a small dining table that was scattered with papers in the corner, and two chairs sitting beside a bar countertop. Fred took the food towards the countertop as Hermione shed her coat, draping it over a squash colored armchair. 

“There’s water, I can make tea, wine, butterbeer, we have - ” Fred halted in his beverage options, staring down at the first opened container of food. “What is this?” 

Hermione drew closer, peering over his shoulder, “Salmon roll.” 

“No, what - what is it?” he insisted, staring at it like it’s existence only served to further confuse him. 

“Salmon - rice - seaweed,” she explained further. 

Fred stared at it some more, and Hermione fretted that perhaps sushi wasn’t the best of ideas, especially if Fred had never had it before. Just when she was about to suggest something else, Fred’s hand darted out, picked up a piece, and easily popped it in his mouth. Hermione held back a laugh at the motion, as Fred was settling against the counter to chew thoughtfully. 

“I don’t hate it,” he decided, although his tone was appreciative. 

“Try it with soy sauce,” Hermione said, tossing him one of the little packets before sorting through the rest of the food. By the time Hermione had turned back around, three more pieces of the sushi were gone. “Looks like you like it.” 

“What else did you get?” he asked instead, and at this Hermione did laugh as she broke down her other choices, explaining each roll, what was inside of it, and how she ate it. 

They were trying to master chopsticks by the time George walked in from the shop, looking at them in confusion. 

“It’s sushi,” Fred explained, as if that answered things.

“Ahh, yes, of course,” George said before turning to Hermione with a pleasant smile, offering his hand to shake, “How-do-you-do, Miss Sushi?”

“She’s helping with the bloody charm,” he explained, far more irritable, as thought he’d forgotten what he’d asked Hermione there for. 

“Ahh,” George laughed, knocking shoulders with Hermione easily, as though her presence in their kitchen was a common, everyday occurrence, “That’s been giving him trouble for over a month.”

“Hence why she is here,” Fred huffed, “Do you want food or not?” 

George glanced at the array of food, tried his best not to grimace, and said, “Pass.” 

“You barely gave it a try,” Hermione argued. 

“What can I say? I’m a coward,” George said with a shrug, turning to the fridge to grab a butterbeer. “Besides, I’m - err - meeting someone. For dinner.”

“Tell Ange I said ‘lo,” Fred said casually, Hermione glaring at him as she caught sight of George’s shoulders tensing. 

“You know he doesn’t  _ really _ care, right?” Hermione explained, ignoring Fred’s affronted gasp at her ruining his fun game. “You hardly made the decision to pursue Angelina, as we’re all stuck dealing with this stupid law.”

“I just - err,” George fidgeted with the label of his butterbeer before halting, thinking over her statement, and then giving Fred an incredibly dirty look. “Oh you bloody - ”

Fred began to laugh, ruffling his hair, “Mate, why would you think I care?”

“Well, once upon a time, I remember a conversation -!”

“We were  _ fifteen _ , if I stood by everything I said at fifteen I’d - ”

“Well how could I know?!” George shouted, arms crossed over his chest, “You didn’t even tell me why you two broke up!”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open, and she found herself slapping her hand over it, as if maybe they wouldn’t have noticed, regardless of the noise the action had produced. She’d assumed that the twins told each other everything, especially what had made Fred and Angelina break up, but that apparently wasn’t the case. It was also a sore spot for the two, it seemed. 

Fred shrugged, unperturbed, as he had turned back to the sushi selections before him. “It hardly mattered.” 

“Mate, it matters now - because Angelina’s acting like I know what happened, and that I’m cold because of it, but I just haven’t a clue,” George insisted, frowning at him. 

Fred sighed, taking another bite and thinking over his next words before swallowing and turning back to stare at his twin. “Because...it was rather my fault. And I feel guilty.” 

“What the hell happened?” George asked incredulously, “I thought - ”

“We rather split...because of the shop,” he admitted, looking over at Hermione as she listened intently. “We were in the early stages, and then the war, and when we got back to it she just...thought I’d take a managerial position.” 

  
“For the shop?” Hermione questioned, blinking in surprise as George pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“The shop has been our dream since we were stuffing spiders into Ron’s teddy,” George insisted. “Why did she - ?”

“I dunno, I guess she didn’t realize how much time I needed to spend here, she just thought it was because we were getting our bearings or doing things for the war,” Fred shrugged, growing more sullen as he absentmindedly picked at the sushi, still fumbling with the chopsticks. “And once she joined the Harpies, she thought I’d step back from here. Or hire someone to take over, or just leave it all to you - I don’t quite know. We got into an epic fight, and I said if she couldn’t respect my dream then I wouldn’t respect hers, and wouldn’t go to a single game. She got pissed, said it was her or the shop, and I...didn’t even hesitate.” 

Both Hermione and George were silent, George mulling things over with a hand rubbing his face. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was always one to speak her mind. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” she muttered, and both Fred and George whirled their heads around to stare at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, but - ” But it was too late, as both twins were laughing, and Hermione realized it was likely the first time they’d heard her swear. Hermione chuckled, allowing them to enjoy their mirth, but as soon as they settled down she continued, “While I understand her frustration, to an extent, owning and operating a business takes a lot of time and effort, and she should’ve been more understanding on your end.” 

“Yeah, well,” Fred shrugged, a smile still hanging on his lips, “We both said things we shouldn’t have. I can’t blame her - she wanted someone who could be more present than I was.” 

“Explains things,” George huffed, tapping the neck of the butterbeer against his chin, “Which means we need to have a long, incredibly awkward chat.” 

“Seems so,” Fred said, smiling when George passed him the butterbeer and headed for the door, determination in his step. “Tell Ange I said ‘lo!” he called, chuckling at George’s salute before he exited. 

“You might want to apologize to George when he gets back,” Hermione offered, shrugging at his curious look, “He seemed upset that you never told him something rather important.” 

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “I just - him and Angelina were friends, and he was already upset with her just by us breaking up. I didn’t want him to hate her, and I was mad about our fight for a long time after the break up. We said a  _ lot _ of things out of anger.”

“Remind me to never get you mad, then,” Hermione said, smiling at Fred’s laugh. 

“Trust me, Granger, I’ve seen you angry, and you’re bloody terrifying,” he insisted, “Remember what we said about scathing remarks? I’d never be the same man again.” 

Hermione laughed, and they quickly ate before tackling the problematic charm. Fred went through every solution he’d tried so far, and even did a quick demonstration - the voice of McGonagall was far too soft and warbled to be recognizable, and so they got to work. 

Such work had Hermione slumped over the coffee table hours later, hands in her hair as she stared at the various formulas. 

“That’s been me for a month,” Fred remarked, sitting across from her on the other side of the coffee table, staring at the same formulas. 

“Have you tried adding a sonorus, maybe?”

“Just makes it louder, does nothing for the sound quality.” 

Hermione clenched her jaw and set her chin on the wood, staring at the papers in anger as her mind whirled. Every possible solution was only quickly shot down by eventual roadblocks, and Hermione pitched herself backwards and flopped against the sofa cushions in anger, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah,” Fred agreed with a heavy sigh. “I’d hate to pitch it - it’s a good idea.”

“It’s a really good idea,” Hermione agreed, rubbing at her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. Admittedly, she hadn’t had to think this hard in quite some time. Work was only reading files, deciding upon their relevancy, and refiling them. She also had to admit that despite her frustration, this was  _ fun. _ “Maybe, I don’t know - we switch gears?” 

“What do you mean?” Fred asked wearily, rubbing at his tired eyes. 

“Instead of a charm, we could essentially take a...voice recorder,” she said, stumbling in her explanation, “But instead of replaying the same audio message, you’d be able to manipulate what is said.” 

“I’m confused on your words, but I get the gist,” Fred admitted, tapping his fingers to his chin. “Could work - I’m assuming a voice recorder is a Muggle thing?” At her nod, he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Can you help me get my hands on one?” 

“We can check Muggle thrift stores, they’re likely to have cheaper ones,” she mused. 

“Excellent,” he said with a clap of his hands, standing to stretch, “It’s a start, and I’ll take that.” 

Hermione nodded, checking her watch idly before lurching forward, “It’s past midnight - Merlin, I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Shit,” Fred said with a wince, checking his own watch as if she were mistaken. “Sorry, I wasn’t keeping track.” 

“It’s alright - my own doing,” she said, standing and stretching herself. “The next day you have free, we can head into Muggle London and look for voice recorders.”

“Sounds like a plan - thanks for your help, and dinner,” he grimaced, “I’m not normally so needy, I swear.”

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her coat and bag. “You’re hardly needy, Fred, shut it.” He grinned and laughed, and Hermione heaved a heavy, tired sigh as the day caught up with her. “Well, I’m off - see you.” 

“Bye Hermione, thanks again,” he said, waving at her as she exited through the Floo.

Her bedtime routine was a rushed blur that she hardly remembered even doing as she drifted off to sleep. Her alarm blared much too early for her liking, and she had already decided on sizing up her coffee choice as she trudged into her usual cafe. 

“Here you are,” the barista said, already pushing an extremely large coffee across the bar for Hermione, even before she could get her wallet out.

“You aren’t giving me another free drink, I already feel bad for not protesting the one from yesterday,” Hermione said with a heavy sigh, as though she weren’t emotionally ready to plead her case. 

“I’m allowed to give out whatever I decide, thank you,” the girl said before pointing at the cup with a grin, “However, that is not from me.”

At her remark, Hermione looked over the cup and found writing, partially hidden beneath the sleeve. She pushed it down a bit, and found a slow smile spreading across her face. 

_ Hermione, _

_ Dinner’s on me next, promise. _

_ Fred _

Hermione hummed, ignored the pointed look coming from the barista, and thanked her on her way out of the door. 

If she were a bit chipper that day, well it could all be easily explained by the coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally made that summary a bit darker than the contents actually were, didn't I? Oops - wasn't my intent. It's about 1 AM and I've got neglected homework to do, so forgive me. 
> 
> I'll see you soon enough, take care and stay safe! <3


	4. Now That You're in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water." - Christopher Morley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this update has taken ages - finals week was more of a finals month, but I'm finished until January! My hope is to get as many chapters as possible pre-written, but that's never worked out for me much before. 
> 
> "It's a little bit funny/ This feeling inside/ I'm not one of those who can/ Easily hide..." - Ellie Goulding, "Your Song"

Hermione was awoken, rather rudely she might add, by being shoved at in the safety of her own bed. In defense, she curled up underneath her blanket and duvet, angrily swatting at the source of the shoving as if it would go away.

“Oy, wake up, I need to talk to you and I only have today,” Ginny’s irritated voice sounded above her head, slightly muffled by her layer of both blanket and duvet. 

“And you chose early on a Saturday morning to talk to me?” Hermione grumbled, groaning when Ginny clutched at the fabric and yanked. “Stop! Stop, fine, I’m awake.”

Ginny relinquished her hold and wound up climbing over Hermione and into the bed beside her, shuffling until she was under the covers to her waist. “Excellent,” Ginny said importantly, folding her hands in her lap like a queen conducting court while Hermione looked at her through the haze of her bedhead. “Now - what are we going to do about your marriage between my brother and yourself?”

Hermione sighed, staring up at the ceiling. She’d been avoiding thinking about it, of course, but it seemed that her week of blissful ignorance was over. The jig was up, and she had to face the music. “I dunno, Gin...no way I can go around it.” 

“Yeah, read that - think it’s unfair they’ll issue that long of a stay in Azkaban  _ and _ the permanent loss of your magic,” Ginny snorted, idly twisting her wedding ring as if she didn’t realize how lucky she was to be doing the action. Hermione felt, for the briefest of moments, a stab of envy - not because Ginny had married Harry, god no - but because Ginny had gotten the choice. Ginny had so many choices ahead of her, and Hermione had none. 

She felt hot, stubborn tears stinging at her eyes, and placed her hands over her face as if she could hide them from Ginny. Ginny, for her part, slid further under the covers and wound her arms around Hermione’s still form, saying nothing when she began to shake and hiccup and try to stifle a sob. “I know - I can’t describe how sorry I am, Hermione,” she murmured, petting the wild mass of Hermione’s hair. 

“What am I going to do, Gin?” Hermione warbled, the tip of her nose burning and tears spilling down her cheeks and the sides of her face. “I can’t - I don’t - I didn’t want  _ this! _ ” she thrust an arm into the air, and she wasn’t sure exactly what ‘this’ was - but whatever it was, Ginny understood. 

“I know,” she said, gently reaching up and lowering the angry, accusatory arm and pulling it around her. “I can’t fix the whole problem, but I promise I’m going to make it better.” 

“I just - ” Hermione hiccuped, staring at the ceiling fan blankly, “ - feel so useless. There’s nothing I can do - I have no agency over my own life.” 

Ginny hummed. They were silent for a moment or two, aside from Hermione’s sniffles, before Ginny spoke again. “Are you going to have me or Harry as your maid of honor?” she asked simply, and Hermione turned her head to give her a halfhearted glare, and once they made eye contact Ginny grinned and got Hermione laughing. 

“I don’t know - I’ll have you arm wrestle for it,” she said as she rubbed at her eyes, frowning when yesterday’s mascara smudged against her fists. She’d thought she’d gotten it all. 

“I look best in cool tones, Hermione, remember that,” Ginny said, and smiled when Hermione laughed again. She sat up, looking down at her friend through a curtain of red hair, “I know this is difficult, and I don’t blame you one bit for being angry or frustrated or scared. I’m all of that and more for you - but I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

“I couldn’t ask for more,” Hermione said, finally sitting up and wrapping her up in a proper hug. 

“I feel like an intrusion,” a cool voice called, and Hermione whirled around to blink at Fred standing in the doorway to her bedroom, sipping at a mug that he must’ve nicked from her kitchen cabinets.

“You are,” Ginny declared, glaring her brother down, “How’d you get in?”

“All the Weasleys are keyed in to my wards,” Hermione said, rubbing at her eyes some more. Maybe Fred hadn’t heard her crying or the bitter words that flowed freely, but he could definitely see the splotchy redness on her face surrounding her eyes. “Just in case.” 

Fred said nothing as he strode into the room, setting his borrowed mug on her dresser as he passed it, and toed off his shoes before he flopped into the bed over the girls’ legs, Ginny crowing as he did so before he propped up on his side and looked at them as if it were something he did every day. 

“Now - what’s all this about?” he asked plainly. 

“Nothing - gerroff, Fred, you’re mucking things up,” Ginny insisted, trying to kick at her brother’s ribs and send him off the foot of the bed. 

Fred remained steadfast, although he shot an irritated glance at his sister, “How can I muck things up if there’s nothing to be mucked up? Make sense, Ginny, c’mon.” 

Hermione sighed, settling a steady hand on Ginny’s knee and calming her kicking spree, “It’s really nothing, Fred, but thanks.” 

“Sounds like,” he said, settling his head on his fist and looking at her simply, “You’re freaking out about our impending nuptials.” 

Hermione sighed again and said nothing. 

“George dealt with me every other night over the same thing, you know,” Fred said, shrugging when Hermione looked at him curiously. “We swapped - him over Ange one night, me over you the other. Very efficient system, that. This the first time you’re addressing it?” 

Hermione nodded, and Fred scoffed with a shake of his head. 

“And this early on a Saturday morning, honestly,” he said, sending a look towards his sister. 

“Well what are you doing here this early?” she argued. 

“Was gonna bother Hermione about a lamb chorder,” he replied smartly.

“Lamb cho - do you mean cam-corder?” Hermione blinked, “And it’s a  _ voice _ recorder anyway, you don’t need - ” she huffed, flopping back into the pillows and rubbing her eyes once more. Still yet, more mascara came off on her hands. She could only imagine how much of a mess she looked at the moment. 

“I’ve got it covered, Fred, now  _ leave _ ,” Ginny tried again, settling both of her feet on her brother’s chest and shoving, yet Fred clung on to the bedsheets and grabbed her feet in the process. 

“Knock it off, you little gremlin,” he ordered, although he was grinning as Ginny pulled her feet back towards her person, glaring him down. 

“Is it strange that I’m just...petrified at the idea of marriage?” Hermione asked, ignoring the impending wrestling match that was occurring at her feet. “Not necessarily to you, Fred, just - ”

“No hard feelings, but yeah,” he said, shrugging even as Ginny tried to wrestle her foot from his grip, “Especially because it’s not a choice we got to make, but one that was decided for us.”

“Did you get that missive from the ministry?” Hermione asked, sitting up to look at him as he shook his head. “They’re ready to set a wedding date if we don’t do it ourselves.”

“Oh, I did get that,” he snorted, and Ginny stilled at the new information. “Before the end of the year.”

“It’s only October!” Ginny crowed, indignant for the both of them. That was the good thing about Ginny - she could get up in arms for you in the event that you needed to stay calm and level headed, but the moment you needed to rant and rave she’d be there with a cup of tea and a listening ear. “Honestly, the absolute  _ nerve _ -”

“Then there’s the whole  _ pop out some spawn in two years _ ,” Fred said with a roll of his eyes, halting suddenly when he caught a quick glance shared between Hermione and Ginny. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Ginny asked instead. 

“That look,” he said, pointing between the two of them, “That was something.” 

“Fairly sure it was nothing,” Ginny insisted with a pointed stare that Fred met with his own.

Hermione, however, sighed and rubbed forcefully at her left eye as it stung - apparently, the mascara had worked its way into the eye itself and was hellbent on irritating it. “Ginny, it’s fine - it’s a bridge we’ll need to cross eventually.”

“What’s going on?” Fred asked before his eyes widened and he sat up on his elbows, “Teddy  _ is _ your son, isn’t he?”

“No,” Hermione snorted, jabbing a foot into his ribs and rolling her eyes as he grinned. “But it is related to kids.”

Fred remained silent, a look of confusion on his face, and Hermione sighed and found herself looking to Ginny. This was an awkward and delicate conversation to be having with her friends’ older brother, but it was necessary. She just didn’t know how to start without bungling the entire thing, and looked to her friend - his sister, who had a propensity for saying exactly what was on her mind - for help.

Now that she’d been given the green light, Ginny didn’t hold back. “Hermione’s been having issues with her periods since the war - at first, we assumed that both stress from the war and the malnourishment of their months of hiding out were the culprits, however the problem has persisted ever since,” she said plainly, sitting up against the pillows and tapping her covered foot against Fred’s arm.

Fred, to his own credit, only looked perplexed. “I’m assuming you’ve sought medical help. What’s going on, then?”

Hermione wiped her hands down her face, and Ginny took over once more. 

“Her healer is an absolute asshat, and won’t take her seriously,” Ginny spewed, gritting her teeth and balling up her fists. “He insists that it’s residual effects from her time on the run, and that a birth control potion will solve the symptoms.” 

“It’s regulated my period, but has done nothing for the daily cramps,” Hermione explained. “It’s lessened the severity of them, but - 

“And you can’t pop out Ministry-regulated children while you’re on the potion that keeps you from being in pain,” Fred mused, frowning when both girls nodded. “Well, shit.” 

Hermione sighed and finally got out of bed, moving towards her closet and pulling out clothes for the day. She heard rustling and footsteps following her, turning to see Fred standing in the doorway with his arms folded. 

“So what can we do?” Fred asked, his brows furrowed as he thought. 

She hummed, carding her hands through her hair and pulling it into a messy knot on top of her head as she thought. “Well, if we tell the Ministry, you may be reassigned - ” 

“Oh no, no no no,” Fred insisted, waving his hands away as if to get rid of the idea, “Listen, it’s going to be awkward going forward with us, but you’re the only person I could possibly tolerate through all of this and I would hate to see who they could put you up with. There’s worse you could do than marrying into the family that’s already claimed you.” 

“We  _ need _ to be sisters,” Ginny declared, coming to stand beside her brother, essentially blocking the door. 

“Then I could try to get a different healer assigned to me, but that’s been like pulling teeth so far,” Hermione said with a sigh. 

Fred brightened considerably, grinning as he stepped forward and pulled a sweater out to pass to her. “You just leave that to me - although I’ll have to tag along on your next appointment, if that’s alright.” 

Hermione gave him a curious glance before appraising the sweater he’d handed her. She snorted - it was one that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for her nearly three Christmases ago. Teddy had a matching one, but it was far, far too small to fit him now. “Two weeks, on Thursday.” 

“I’ll swap days off with George and be there,” he insisted. 

“You aren’t going to set up a portable swamp in his office, are you?” Ginny questioned, hands on her hips. “Because I’ve already offered, but Hermione won’t let me.” 

Fred tutted, and Hermione took their momentary distraction to shove them out of the closet so she could get dressed. No doubt they would conspire and plot and plan when left to their own devices, because Ginny was just as devious as the twins when she wanted to be, but the less Hermione knew the better. 

Once Hermione exited the closet to head to the bathroom to wipe away the smudges around her eyes, she blinked at her freshly made bed and an empty room greeting her. She found herself giving a small smile, and moved to the bathroom to fix her face. 

After doing all necessary tasks, Hermione found herself being handed a warm mug that smelled like coffee and cloves. 

“I had to show him how to make coffee,” Ginny said from her perch on the counter, blowing on her own mug. 

“It tastes horrendous by itself,” Fred declared happily, smiling when Hermione took the mug and thanked him. 

“Have you two schemed enough yet?” Hermione asked once she took a few sips of the drink. 

“Nearly,” Ginny stated.

“Do I need to know anything?” she asked.

“No,” Fred and Ginny chorused. 

“Perfect,” she said as she sat down at the table. “How’s George and Angelina doing?” 

Fred shrugged, making a vague hand gesture that declared nothing, “They’ve put things out in the open and are deliberating, as far as I can tell.” 

“That could mean so many things,” Ginny snorted, but Fred shot Hermione a look and she knew exactly what it meant. George and Angelina had talked about the source of her breakup with Fred - the twins’ joke shop. “If you don’t know, just say you don’t know.” 

“Hardly any fun in that, Gin,” Fred admonished, yet Hermione could see that it was weighing on him, yet she couldn’t pinpoint exactly how. 

“Gin, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Hermione asked instead, moving to swap her ceramic mug of coffee for a sturdier, travel-safe mug.

“Plenty, but it seems I’m getting the brush off,” she sighed dramatically, vaulting off of the counter and patting her thighs once she’d stuck the landing. “I’ll catch up with you later tonight then, alright?”

“Didn’t Harry have that work thing that he wanted to go to?” Hermione questioned. 

“That  _ he _ wanted to go to, yes,” Ginny agreed, sharing a grin with her brother as Hermione rolled her eyes. “Please let me use you as an excuse to get out of it - those Auror wives are all boring and I hate spending more than ten collective minutes with any of them.”

“Has nothing to do with most of them being in their forties,” Fred snorted. 

“Yes, fine, see you tonight,” Hermione declared, waving her off as she practically skipped to the Floo. 

Before Ginny’s hair had even had a chance to follow her gait into the Floo, Hermione’s coat was being pushed onto her shoulders and she was being thrust out of her door, the mug of coffee somehow gracefully being passed from her hands and onto the dining table and her keys deftly pocketed in the garment she was struggling with. 

“Alright - where to for a recorder?” Fred asked, rubbing his hands together in glee as he shut her apartment door behind him, but Hermione was still trying to pull the sleeves of her coat into the proper positions to thrust her arms through. 

“Uhm, well - thrift stores first,” Hermione said, trying to blink through the whirlwind that had just happened. 

“Excellent, I’ll lead the way,” he declared, starting off down the hall and towards the lifts, and Hermione was left sputtering and scrambling after him, her coat tossed over her arms instead. 

“You have no idea where we’re going, why would you lead the way?” she asked, taking the still moment as they waited for the lift doors to open to finally put her coat on. “We’ll get lost.” 

“Getting lost is all the fun, c’mon, Granger,” Fred insisted, tapping the side of her nose and grinning when she wrinkled it up at him. “Fine - I’ll allow you to loosely guide us.” 

“Troubled by that stipulation, but I’ll allow it,” Hermione snorted, following him into the open metal doors and smiling at the elderly lady who lived a floor above her. 

“‘Lo, Hermione, dear,” she said, although her gaze was tracing over Fred’s tall figure with eagle eyes, a conspiratory glint in her eyes as she glanced back at the young woman. “Got grand plans for the day, have you?” 

“Hello, Mrs. Jones,” she replied with a pleasant smile, sweeping her hair out from under her coat, “Just doing some thrift shopping.” 

“Ahh, an excellent adventure,” Mrs. Jones approved, before she turned completely to Fred as though her pleasantries with Hermione had been checked off her to-do list of social niceties. “And who might you be, young man?”

“Fred Weasley, ma’am, it’s a pleasure,” Fred responded with a beaming grin. 

“The pleasure’s mine - how do you know Miss Hermione?” she asked, jumping straight to her inquisition. Hermione bit back a laugh, and instead eyed the pinging numbers as each floor slowly passed. 

“Friends from school,” he answered skillfully, no doubt used to fielding prying questions from shop customers on the daily. Being a Weasley nowadays had that side effect. 

“Oh, yes, I see,” Mrs. Jones said, her eyes bright. “What brings you to visit?” 

“Hermione’s helping me with a bit of a project - something new to tinker with,” he responded, and Hermione was caught glancing at his tapping foot. She frowned, looking up to his face, but he hardly seemed irritated. She looked back to the numbers of the lift, and frowned. She barely used the machine, as all of her comings and goings were done through the Floo or Apparation, so she forgot one major downfall of the apartment building - it housed the world’s slowest lift in the history of lifts. 

“How’s your mum doing anyway, Fred?” Hermione asked, throwing Mrs. Jones’ inspection off and regathering Fred’s attention. 

If he seemed confused by her question, considering she was at the Burrow at least once a week, Fred didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled graciously, and answered, “Doing fine, she’s loving being a grandmother to Victoire.” 

“A lovely name - French?” Mrs. Jones interjected. 

“Yes - my sister in law is from France,” Fred answered. 

“Has Fleur decided on a daycare service yet?” Hermione wondered. Fleur, up until labor, had been working away at Gringotts in their curse-breaking department alongside Bill. Once Victoire was born, she’d taken the first few years off to focus on the child, and now was debating on going back to work or simply staying at home. 

“She’s waffling - had it narrowed down to two, but now thinks she doesn’t want to do it at all,” he said with a shrug before grinning, “It eez bad to cause stress to the bébé, and ‘er absence could mean stress.” 

Hermione had to laugh, shaking her head thoughtfully, “Don’t know why she wouldn’t just leave her with Molly, but that’s up to her.”

“Think she’s using the daycare thing as an excuse - not like she needs one,” he insisted. 

Soon enough, the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors slowly opened. The two allowed for Mrs. Jones to exit first before following her into the lobby, and paused when the woman halted them with a perceptive gaze. 

“It was very lovely to meet you Fred,” Mrs. Jones said, smiling like she had a secret as she turned to Hermione, “And always a treat to see you, dear. Enjoy your day!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones, you as well,” Hermione said before grasping onto Fred’s arm and tugging him out into the cold air, sighing when Mrs. Jones opted to simply grab her mail and remain in the lobby. “I know she’s sweet, and means well, but - ”

“I felt like I was being interrogated for some crime,” Fred said with a sigh, knocking elbows with her, “Thanks for the distraction.”

“Anytime - just let me know,” Hermione replied with a smile. Her hunch had been correct, and she was glad to have helped in any small manner. “Now, I think our first stop should be - ”

“Ahh, I said you could loosely guide us,” Fred insisted, grinning once Hermione rolled her eyes. “Now - point in the general direction of this establishment.” 

Hermione thought for a moment or two, her mind taking her through all of the twists and turns of the city, before pointing. Once she had, Fred loped his arm through hers and set off at a quick pace. 

His pace did eventually slow, and the two took to wandering aimlessly through the streets to window shop and chat, being careful to leave plenty of room for the fast-walking pedestrians that had places to go and people to see. 

It was getting easier and easier to just chat with Fred, Hermione noticed. Before the proclamation of the marriage law, Hermione would often find herself simply listening to Fred and George’s quips in a conversation, on occasion adding a few in herself. She could maybe count on one hand the amount of conversations she’d had with Fred in the past decade, and almost all of them had to do with the whereabouts of her friends or how the shop was doing. 

Now, she was openly discussing a topic that made her stomach clench and her face pinch, all because Fred had asked about her family and if they knew about the law. 

“They’ve a strict ‘no magic talk’ at home, since the whole - “ here, Hermione’s face pinched. 

It had been a necessary precaution, swiping her parents’ memories clean and sending them on a plane to Australia, and one that had proved to pay off. After the war, Harry and Ron had found abandoned plans from Death Eaters that proved they’d been targeting the Granger home and had no luck in finding it or her parents. However, now that her parents remembered her, it seemed that they distrusted anything magic - and anything to do with her. It was slow goings, and everybody had been ignoring the elephant in the room every time Hermione came over for tea - never dinner, or spend the night, only tea. If Hermione was honest with herself when it came to her parents, the whole situation was eating a giant hole inside of her that she feared she may consume her entirely one day. The marriage law only made it bigger. 

“Go on,” Fred prodded, his hands deep in his pockets as he glanced to her face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, we do this fun thing where we pretend I’m not a witch, and we pretend that I didn’t go through a horrendous war at a young age, and that I work at a law office or something,” Hermione explained, all the while feeling the hole grow a smidge wider. “So the marriage law - ”

“Ahhh,” Fred said in understanding. “You going to tell them what it’s all about? Or do you want to play pretend? I’m a grand actor, Hermione, I can - ”

“Thanks, but no,” Hermione sighed, “Lying to them would only make things worse. I figure you three can meet, and I can ease them in as best as I can. Gradually.” 

Fred nodded, staying silent for a moment or two, before tilting his head and humming, “How - err -  _ traditional _ are your parents?”

Hermione blinked at the odd question, but Fred waved his hand on as though he were asking her to humor him. “I don’t quite know. I don’t know them as well as I should, I’m afraid.”

“Is there a distinct possibility,” Fred began, stopping as he mulled over his next words, “That your parents could think we’re getting married because we’re -?”

“Oh  _ God, _ ” Hermione said, halting entirely on the sidewalk and burying her face in her hands as Fred laughed, only two steps away from her. “I didn’t even  _ think _ of that. My mum is going to have kittens, and my dad - ”

“I won’t be in the room alone with your dad,” Fred swore, color draining immediately from his face, “Even if he wants to have that man-to-man ‘if you hurt my daughter’ chat, I won’t be doing it.”

“Surely it won’t come to that,” Hermione said, although she wasn’t entirely certain. Nowadays, she wasn’t entirely sure as to anything concerning her parents. Her mood must have changed, and it must have shown, because Fred had placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. 

“It’ll be alright, Granger,” he promised, smiling when she cast him a dubious glance. “Honest - no matter what comes of it - you’ve got the Weasleys.” 

The sentiment was there, and it did make her feel marginally better. Since the war, the ordeal with her parents, dating and then breaking up with Ron - the Weasleys had been there with her through it all. Although she’d yet to divulge details with most of them, aside from Ginny, Ron and Harry, of course, they’d treated her like one of their own. 

“Now, come on - enough melancholy,” Fred declared, rubbing his palms together as if he were devising a dastardly plan. “Thrift shop?”

Hermione pointed once more, and they set off again - the weight on Hermione’s shoulders a little bit lighter, and the hole in her chest not as chasmous as she once thought. 

The thrift shop was a tiny sliver of a brick building, squeezed between an ancient haberdashery and a discount jewelry store. With aged brick and dangling black shutters, one might think it as someone’s unfortunate dwelling, but the small painted sign on the door declared otherwise. The overhead fluorescents were out in sections, floor lamps attempting to take up the slack but instead leaving golden spots in the dimness of the dusty shop.

Hermione had weaved through the displays and racks expertly, one hand on Fred’s coat sleeve so he wouldn’t wander off and have to pay for half of the store via their “you break it, you buy it” policy. Sequestered in a far corner was the outdated and decrepit technology, and Hermione eyed a lovely antique record player before shaking her head and getting back to business. 

Since Fred had no clue as to what a voice recorder would even look like, let alone how to decide if it was functioning, Hermione rolled up her sleeves and got to work, sitting on the dingy floor as she examined each rectangular device. 

“What’s that?” Fred asked, peering eagerly over her shoulder. 

“Tape player,” Hermione answered, placing it in a pile of discarded items. Fred hummed, interested, yet let her continue. 

After a few moments of silence, Hermione held back a triumphant shout, which brought Fred kneeling down beside her to peruse her find. It had a few buttons broken, jammed firmly into place, and the wire was a bit frayed - but it was nothing that magic couldn’t fix. 

“C’mon,” Hermione said, standing up and dashing to the front counter, Fred scrambling after her. 

“That’s broken,” the clerk declared. 

“I know,” she answered, digging into her purse for the money. 

“D’you break it?” he asked accusingly. 

“No - I found it broken,” Hermione responded. 

He gave a disbelieving grunt, but rang up the purchase, counted out her change, and slid it back to her for her to drop easily into her purse. 

Fred was waiting at the door to open it for her, watching her as she dug the object out of her purse and opened the spot for the tape to go in. 

“We can fix the buttons and the wire, but we’ll need to buy some tape before we can experiment further,” Hermione declared, pointing out the imperfections she saw, looking up and catching a perplexed look on Fred’s face. “What? Do you not like it?” 

Fred blinked, as if he weren’t aware of the face he’d been making, and was quick to reassure her, “No, no, it’s not that at all - thank you - I just...you look like you’re having fun, is all.” 

  
Hermione stopped, took stock of the giddy feeling of a quest gone well, and smiled as she looked back up at him, “I am.” 

Fred beamed, clapped his hands, and said, “Excellent.” 

Their next quest for the day was purchasing tape for the voice recorder, followed by purchasing lunch - which Fred was insistent on paying, which caused the cashier to assume he was from Australia or somewhere with different currency - and return to Hermione’s flat to poke and prod at the machine. 

The voice recorder was easy to fix, as predicted, as it was done with a simple  _ reparo  _ and spruced up with a cleaning spell. Hermione showed Fred how to put the fresh tape in and remove it, and soon they were testing out simple phrases. 

“The cow says moo,” Hermione prompted. 

“That’s boring, Granger, give an exciting one,” Fred demanded, his arm outstretched from his place in the corner of her kitchen as she went through the process of making tea the Muggle way. 

Hermione racked her brain for something, landing on a song lyric that her mum had always sang softly to her when tucking her into bed as a child, swiping messy curls off of her forehead and tucking the blankets up to her chin, “I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now that you’re in the world.” 

“Poetic,” Fred murmured, although when Hermione turned he was focusing intently on the voice recorder, trying to remember which button was play. “Wait - say it again, I think I messed up.” 

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes heavenwards when the Floo activated, and Ginny stepped through. She checked her watch and blinked - where on earth had the day gone? “It can’t be evening already.”

Fred looked up, bounding over to his sister before she could open her mouth to respond, “Quick! Say something!”

Ginny swatted irritatingly at her brother, elbowing his arm out of her face, “Fred, get that thing out of my face!”

Fred hit the button, and Ginny’s voice returned through the speaker. “Aha! Thank you, Gin, your loud mouth is finally useful.” 

“Oy!” Hermione called before Ginny could retaliate, holding up her favorite mug to entice her to the kitchen, “Don’t make me act like your mum.”

“Then I should leave before a fistfight breaks out,” Fred declared, stuffing the voice recorder in his coat pocket and giving a cheeky grin and a bow, “Ladies - enjoy talking about me!” 

Ginny kept her mouth shut, watching her brother depart, and exhaled noisily through her nose as she took her seat, “He’s a prat.” 

“Was Harry upset you ditched him?” Hermione asked instead, sitting down beside her and sipping at her own tea. 

“Nah,” Ginny said with a flippant wave of her hand, “Said he was jealous, and to give you his love.” 

Hermione laughed - Harry still hadn’t figured out that the Auror’s get-togethers weren’t entirely mandatory, and she knew the other Aurors weren’t about to tell him he didn’t have to go. Ron would appear for fifteen minutes, snack on whatever was available, laugh boisterously, and then quietly depart and deny his leave if anyone asked him about it. She knew for a fact that Seamus just flat-out didn’t go, and Neville used to hide behind a potted plant whenever he’d been an Auror. 

“Now - let’s chat,” Ginny said, immediately tanking Hermione’s mood. “How’re you feeling about everything?”

Hermione sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know - it’s hard to describe. Swings between terrified and eerily calm from moment to moment.” 

“Well, you told him the thing you were the most scared of telling him,” Ginny shrugged. 

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking over the other conversations of the day, “I also talked to him about my parents.”

Ginny nearly choked on her tea, staring wide-eyed at her friend as she slowly lowered the mug and looked to her to elaborate. 

Hermione shrugged, thumbing the handle of her own mug, “He asked if they knew about the law - I wound up telling him some of the situation.” 

Ginny nodded, mulling over her next words as she took another, more successful sip. “So what is the plan with your parents?”

“Ease them into the marriage law gradually,” Hermione admitted, scraping her hand through her hair tiredly. “I can’t exactly lie to them again - they already don’t trust me.” 

Hermione was grateful that Ginny didn’t try to convince her otherwise, like Ron and Harry sometimes did. Ron was so sure that their occasional teas meant that they were over it, and insisted that Hermione was just over analyzing and looking too deep into things. Harry had no idea what to do with any set of parents, and so lamely said that he was sure things would get better soon. Ginny had no such delusions - she merely set her mouth in that thin line, and her eyebrows would press together, and Hermione knew that she was racking her brain trying to figure out how to help, to fix, only to come up empty. 

“Well, Fred can be charming when he wants to - I’m sure he’ll try to make the situation as easy as possible,” Ginny said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning into her chair and averting her gaze. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I suppose,” Hermione murmured, although the gaping hole in her chest gnawed insistently. This wasn’t at all how she pictured her impending wedding going. She closed her eyes against the sudden barrage of tears - her parents would’ve been thrilled over their only daughter getting married, if only the war hadn’t happened - if only she hadn’t done what she’d done. 

“Teddy’s looking forward to your trip to the bookstore,” Ginny said, pretending not to see Hermione’s rapid blinks or red-tipped nose. “Says he wants something about a super man? I said something along the lines of ‘ _ don’t we all _ ,’ but Harry didn’t think that was funny so  _ I _ said - ”

Hermione let the smile and laugh follow the conversation, and neither of them talked about the things they knew they should have talked about. 

By the time Ginny left, there was a pounding headache pulsing behind Hermione’s eyes, and she found herself standing alone in her living room, looking around aimlessly and letting the tears finally flow - the gap in her chest swelling and taking her under, leaving her sniffling and hiccuping and just wishing she could wrap herself up in one of her mum’s hugs and feel like everything would be okay. 

But she hadn’t had one of those hugs in quite a long time, so she settled for a hot shower and a cocoon of blankets that didn’t help as much as they should have, but still helped a little. 

She drifted off, feeling like she was missing someone - she just wasn’t sure who anymore. 


	5. Another Night on Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred helps Hermione ditch her healer and they find a friendly face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lord, did this winter break just fly right by. Now I'm supposed to be reading Jane Eyre, Persuasion and various works of Shakespeare every few days. Alas, I did sign up for this. And while I did say I would write loads during break, I found myself writing about every aspect of this story *but* what concerns Fred and Hermione. So, inevitably, there may be a story about Neville and the nameless barista. Oddly enough, they were extremely fun to write. 
> 
> Also, I discovered a grave injustice when hunting down a song for this chapter - my absolute favorite song has been removed from Spotify. Luckily, I have - ahem - acquired it through other means and secured it on my personal device, but still. Rude.
> 
> And, while I do still have your attention, please be sure to take a moment and read the end notes, as it contains information about later (much later) chapters. If you're entirely unflappable and don't need to be warned about anything whatsoever, then don't worry about it, and I'll see you next time.
> 
> "What's another night on Mars?/ With friends like ours/ Anywhere is home..." - the Maine, "Another Night on Mars"

Hermione awoke, bright and early Thursday morning, dreading her life. 

Alright, maybe that was a tad overdramatic, but she didn’t exactly look forward to her day. Work the day before had ran too long, and it was nearing midnight by the time Hermione had been able to find herself stepping out of the Floo and into her living room. She’d opted out of dinner, and now was perusing her cabinets for suitable breakfast options and coming up empty. 

She sighed, checked her watch, and decided a trip to the cafe wouldn’t be the worst idea. 

“Good morning!” the nameless barista chimed as she saw Hermione enter, aptly putting away several gallons of milk. She quirked her head to Hermione and offered a small, yet confused smile. “You’re here early.” 

“I’ve got a busy day,” Hermione said with a small shrug, propping her elbows on the counter and watching her work. The shop must have just opened, as dawn was still attempting to break over the horizon and the air still contained that early morning chill that was usually long gone by the time Hermione made way for her morning coffee. “Can I get a large, today?”

“Of course,” the barista insisted, slamming the fridge door with her hip and tying up her long, auburn hair with a beaming grin that mismatched the early hour. “Want me to warm up something for you too?”

“Please,” she replied with a slight laugh, checking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t holding up a line and settling in once she saw she was the sole customer. 

The barista nodded, mixing a myriad of syrups into a large cup and waving her wand to send a croissant towards a toaster oven settled into the cabinets. Hermione watched her work in silence, mulling over muggy thoughts that would be frenzied by caffeine soon enough, when she spoke again. 

“How’s things going with Neville?” 

The barista heaved a monumental sigh, looking towards the ceiling as she seemed to mull things over herself while steaming the milk. “He seems nice - he’s very attractive, which was a pleasant surprise.” 

Hermione found herself grinning, quirking a brow as she ruffled through her hair, “He’s awkward, isn’t he?”

“ _ So _ awkward,” she insisted before laughing, “But he’s sweet! I asked what he did for a living, and that started on a ten minute conversation about magical plants, and he wound up apologizing for talking about himself for so long.”

Hermione chuckled, smiling at the arrival of the warm, flaky croissant and picking at it to nibble. “Be confident - he’ll warm up to you soon enough.”

“Here’s hoping,” she said, tipping the coffee in a salute before settling it into Hermione’s grasp. “There you are - two galleons, please.”

Hermione narrowed her gaze, her hand freezing over her purse. “That’s cheaper than it should be.” 

“Fine - two galleons and a sickle, please.” 

Hermione huffed, settling her hands on her hips. “Stop giving things to me for free.” 

“They’re not for free,” she insisted, flicking her wand over her shoulder and sending the dirty utensils to quickly wash themselves in the sink, zipping eagerly back to their places once they were done. “It’s called a discount.” 

“Stop giving me discounts,” Hermione declared. 

“I’ll make it free if you keep on,” she said with a sniff, settling Hermione with a deadpan stare before breaking back into a grin when Hermione put two galleons and a sickle on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, as always, Hermione.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she put the money in the till, quietly placing a few more coins in the tip jar and taking a bite out of her croissant. Just as she was about to thank her, still feeling guilty about not knowing her name, she settled against the counter and spoke again. 

“How’s things with you and Mr. Weasley?” she asked instead. 

Hermione blinked, chewing thoughtfully. Things between her and Fred weren’t the worst by any means - but they also weren’t fantastic either. While she’d gently teased Neville for his awkwardness, things weren’t much better for Hermione. They’d been friendly, sure, and Fred had double checked that she’d wanted him there for her healer’s appointment that day, but Hermione was beginning to feel the pressure of the marriage law. The end of the year was closing in, and her unnamed wedding day regretfully loomed closer. 

But, Hermione couldn’t explain all of this to a girl whose name she had never learned, so she shrugged and picked at the croissant. “It’s fine, I guess.”

The girl nodded slowly, neither accepting or rejecting the answer, and gave a sad sort of smile. “Fine is good, all things considered.” 

And Hermione felt a little bit selfish - she’d at least known Fred and his family for most of her life. The poor girl was marrying a stranger who talked about plants and apologized profusely. Hermione could’ve had a similar fate.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ll be fine,” the girl said with a grin, throwing in a wink as she moved to the till again, no doubt seeing a customer approach through the front windows. “I’m tougher than I look.” 

“That you are,” Hermione said with a smile, thanking her for the coffee and exiting through the open door as she stepped out into the early day. 

The sun was shining a bit more than when she’d entered, so she decided to walk as she ate her breakfast and sipped her coffee. Diagon Alley in the early morning was quiet and still - shop owners were setting up products or righting tables and chairs, the air smelled clean and fresh, and people were scarce. 

Looming up ahead was the still sign for Weasley Wizard Wheezes, the arm poised firmly on the top hat peeking around the corner of the buildings. Hermione slowly made her way there, window shopping in the meantime, her croissant dissipating and her cup getting steadily lighter. 

“We need more Whizbangs!” called one of the twins from the depths of the darkened store as Hermione quietly slipped in unnoticed, despite the soft ding of the bell above the door. She didn’t even know that the twins were open this early, but then again many of the other businesses were getting prepared for the day amongst customers milling between shelves or tables. 

“Any in particular?” another called from the backroom, guarded by a purple velvet curtain. 

Hermione glanced at the display, seeing a lack of two of the products, and replied, “The Profanity Sparklers and the Silver Star Rockets!” 

The twin from the backroom responded first, and out popped George who blinked at her appearance before stepping out with a grin. “Granger! Fancy seeing you here at this hour!” 

Hermione returned the smile and gestured with her coffee cup, “Coffee was needed, and I thought I’d stop by.” 

George peered at the cup as Fred approached, regarding the shop’s stamp on the cup sleeve. “I’ve heard of them - haven’t made it down there, though they’ve been here for a year or two.” 

“I recommend it - I go every day,” she said, smiling as Fred neared them and clapped George on the shoulder. “Have the barista recommend something.” 

“The menu’s a mile long,” Fred intoned before quirking a brow at Hermione. “It’s far too early for normal functioning - what are you doing out?” 

Hermione shrugged, and George took his leave to replenish the Whizbangs. “Couldn’t sleep. Meetings with Healer Carter make me antsy.” 

When Hermione had first met Healer Carter, she’d heard many a great thing about him and his work in magical medicine. The first meeting, she’d thought that his simple fix would truly be simple - however, time proved otherwise, as did the other countless meetings and appointments she’d been to only to be told that she was overreacting. 

“We’ll take care of him today,” Fred promised before shooting her a worried look that echoed of the maternal Molly Weasley. The similarity made Hermione grin as he asked, “Have you eaten?” 

“Got a croissant from the cafe,” she promised, and Fred’s concern seemed to abide. 

“Well, there’s still a few hours before we need to head out - want to help George and I for a bit?” 

While others might immediately think that she was being put to work for free labor, her workaholic nature was renowned throughout the Weasley clan. If Hermione was worried about something, giving her a task to focus on was usually the key to calming her down. Normally, it was a craft with Teddy or helping Mrs. Weasley cook a dish - and soon enough Hermione would work through a solution. 

“That sounds fun - show me what to do,” she said, and Fred set her to work at the counter. 

She began the day by organizing the miscellaneous items in the drawers, setting aside drawers dedicated to things like quills, rubber bands and paper clips, and the odd unlabeled candy that Hermione knew better than to try. Once more customers came, Hermione was checking them out and sending them on their merry way with a pleasant smile and some quiet conversation about the weather or the product itself. 

Almost all too soon, Verity came in and took over, and Hermione was fidgeting with her bag as she hesitated. 

“I moved some things, I hope you don’t mind,” Hermione admitted as the blonde girl tied her apron. 

Verity checked the drawers and smiled, “Thank you! Those have been a mess for ages, almost daunting to deal with.” 

Hermione smiled at the comment, and was redirected to the backroom where she was told the twins were. 

“I’m just saying - we need a sale on the Pygmy Puffs, or we’ll be drowning in them soon enough,” George insisted, tilting his desk chair and propping his ankles on the desk as he regarded Fred. “It’s mating season for them, you know.” 

“If we hold off ‘til Christmas, we’ll be sure to get rid of them - and at full price,'' Fred declared with a shake of his head, grinning once he caught sight of Hermione standing at the doorway. “Verity run you off?” 

“Hardly,” Hermione said with a scoff, stepping forward and regarding the notes perched on the corner of George’s desk, poking him in the shoulder to right him as he made grumbles of complaint, his feet soundly hitting the floor. “Your writing is atrocious, George.” 

“It does it’s job,” he argued with a frown, shooing her hands away from his space. “If you’re here to nitpick me - “

“No nitpicking - it’s just awful,” she insisted with a grin. 

“If you had a flaw, I’d point it out right now,” he said, although his exaggerated frown was marred by his good natured air. It was hard to explain when the twins were in a good mood - it seemed to roll off of their shoulders in waves and impact everyone surrounding them. It had been a humongous comfort during the war, and a noticeable loss when she, Harry and Ron had been on the run. 

“There’s about an hour before we need to go - how early do you prefer we get there?” Fred asked casually, the pinch in George’s brow giving away that he had no earthly idea what they were on about, but only for the sake of the conversation at hand.

Hermione fidgeted, tugging on the hem of her cardigan, and frowned in thought. Too early and she’d sit in the waiting room for ages to panic - too late and she’d be stressed while she squeezed in some last minute panicking. 

“Ten minutes before?” he asked instead, and Hermione gave a grateful nod. 

“You can solve the Pygmy Puff debate we’re having,” George offered, giving a huff towards his twin as Fred rolled his eyes. “Tell him to mark the Puffs down, or we’ll be up to our eyebrows in them.” 

“I think Fred’s got a point in waiting out until the Christmas crowd - however, there’s still the cost of upkeep in the meantime,” she said as she hummed, glancing around the room as she thought. 

“Well we keep all of the Puffs here - if we sold them at the Hogsmeade location, it’d cut the numbers in half,” George stated. 

Fred tipped his head in thought, “We’d need permits for the Hogsmeade location to sell them, but that’s not too bad in comparison.” 

“Who’s working your Hogsmeade location, anyway?” 

“Lee runs it, we pop in occasionally,” Fred answered before grimacing, “Although, we’ll need to think of something soon - he’s preparing to host his own radio show, and is just minding the shop to save money for his expenses.” 

“Well, one of us will have to move out eventually,” George said with a sigh, nodding his head to Hermione, “Hermione and I sharing a bathroom? There’d be a murder in a fortnight.” 

“George takes his skincare routine very seriously,” Fred added at her perplexed expression. 

“It’s a religion, almost,” he insisted as she grinned. “Can’t be disturbed in the meantime.” 

“And my hair has a twelve step process, so that won’t do,” Hermione tutted, smiling when the two grinned back at her. 

“So - one of us moves to the Hogsmeade location and runs it once Lee’s gone,” Fred deliberated, sharing a long look with George. As the two were mulling it over, they pulled their hands up into fists, bounced them in the air three times, and then made various hand gestures. One seemed to win, both shrugged their shoulders, and Fred announced, “George takes Hogsmeade, I’ve got Diagon.” 

“What just happened?” Hermione insisted, recognizing that a form of rock-paper-scissors had taken place, but being completely clueless as to everything else. 

“Unicorn, dementor, wand-casting-a-patronus.”

“We made it up.” 

“That’s not - ” Hermione’s brows pinched, and for a moment she forgot all about Healer Carter, her appointment, and the anxieties of the morning, instead focusing on the rules of the decision game that had just taken place. 

They’d spent nearly thirty minutes going over the rules of Unicorn-dementor-patronus, and another fifteen doing several rounds of their finalized version, before Fred had stood and ushered her out of the backroom as George hollered about the injustices and apparent rigging that had taken place. Before she’d realized, she’d been checked in at Mungo’s and given a seat in the waiting room with Fred lounging in a chair at her side. 

All too soon, however, the jovial air around her had come crashing down, and she was left to stare at the speckled tile floor in the space beside her bouncing foot. It wasn’t a constant anxious thought that was pervading her, just the unsettling feeling growing stronger and stronger. Whatever was about to happen, whatever information she was about to learn, all of it was beyond her control - and that  _ terrified her. _ It wasn’t that Hermione was a controlling person, not by any means - her youth had proven that she could roll with the punches with the best of them. It was just that, well, this was different. Things were different - with the new stipulations set in place by the Ministry with the law, there was a whole set of problems just waiting to be unleashed. 

Before she could lift her hand to her mouth, an anxious habit where she rubbed the skin around her lips raw, a gentle fist came down and began to bounce against her knee, beating out an almost rhythm. It startled her, and she stopped, looking at Fred with a start as if she’d forgotten he was there. 

“No, keep going - we were about to head into the chorus,” he insisted, giving a grin when he looked back to her and knocking his elbow against hers on the armrest. “You like Wicked Sisters, yeah?” 

Hermione huffed a laugh, nodding, and settled down to watch as Fred beat out the pattern of one of their songs against her kneecap, humming to himself as he tried to keep the beat, inevitably starting over when he forgot how the next lines went. 

“Hermione Granger?” a quiet voice called, and before the anxiety could renew Fred popped up from his seat with a flourish, marching his way towards the assistant without a word. She scrambled behind him, fearful of what he was about to say, and the assistant only gave a wild-eyed blink before leading them down the hall and into Healer Carter’s office, promising that it’d only be a moment, and then shutting them in. 

Healer Carter’s office, when compared to the well-decorated, homey offices of both of her parents, was really rather boring. The walls were painted beige, a lone painting of a wintry forest nestled beside a singular bookshelf tucked into a corner. There were no knicknacks, or pictures of family, or very many books - really, the only books on the shelves were the ones that the man had written or co-written. 

“This’ll be fun,” Fred intoned as he settled in one of the chairs in front of a barren desk. There wasn’t even a pen sitting out. It truly looked as if no one had ever occupied the room for any amount of time. 

Hermione sat beside him, humming lightly, trying to keep her nerves to herself now that they were in the room, yet found herself looking around for something to focus on. However, nothing even remotely interesting was housed in the room, so she settled for bouncing her leg again and staring at her watch. 

“I might fall asleep if he takes too much longer,” Fred mumbled, and Hermione huffed a laugh and shot him a grin, which he returned with a shrug. “So - how rude am I allowed to be on this excursion?” 

Hermione mulled it over, settling her hands in her lap as she thought, and decided, “Depends on what he’s like today.” 

“Excellent,” he said with a glee that was so near malicious, she wondered what Ginny had shared with him. 

“Did you not tell George where you were off to today?” she asked, trying to fill the emptiness in the room with something interesting. “He seemed confused.” 

“No - it wasn’t my business to tell,” he said with a wave of his hand, scoffing at her blink, “It’s your business, you and Ginny trusted me with it, I’m not going to betray it even to George. He understands, and does the same when similar situations arise.” 

“I would understand if you had, is what I’m saying, but thank you,” she said with a smile, causing him to tilt his head and look at her oddly. “It’s just that it’s you and George - you two are the closest I’ve ever seen anyone be. I’ve often wondered if twin telepathy wasn’t an actual thing in the wizarding world because of you two.”

Fred laughed, his face alighting with a grin as he settled in his chair, “The world would never be the same if that were the case - no, George and I just have the very fortunate gift of being so much alike, it’s easy to know what he’s thinking and vice versa. It’s just that we’re twins and together all of the time - if anyone else were around either of us that much, I’m sure something similar would happen.” 

Before Hermione could respond, the door opened and Healer Carter entered the room. He was a tall, thin wizard with bony wrists and graying hair, and a very apathetic face that seemed to be void of any emotion other than condescending smugness. Hermione felt the anxiety leave her as a new thought entered her - at the end of the day, she’d never again have to deal with this man. She gave him a smile. 

“Miss Granger, lovely to see you,” he said as he sat behind his chair, her file settling on his desk before he clasped his hands open it. “As well as your friend,” he added, although he did not spare a glance to Fred as he said it. 

But Hermione did, because Fred had gone quiet, and she found that he was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, and staring at Healer Carter with an eerie silence that did not seem to suit him. 

Feeling that the cannon was about to go off, Hermione felt it best to get it over with. “Healer Carter, I’d like to be assigned to another healer, as I feel that due to the surrounding nature - ”

Before she could finish, Healer Carter had already begun, “Miss Granger, I can assure you that another healer would not divulge any different an answer or solution than that which I have already given you.” 

The feet of Fred’s chair returned to the ground, and he tilted his head harshly, “How ‘bout you let her finish speaking, before you butt in?” 

Healer Carter suddenly seemed to notice Fred, as if he’d appeared from thin air to question him, and his already thin mouth became thinner, “Sir, I implore you - ”

“She asked you to assign her to another healer, because you aren’t doing your job - so, do it,” Fred cut in with a shrug, glancing to Hermione to check his boundaries, and giving a small smile when he saw her small nod to continue. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve done very little in order to help her problem, or seek any actual answers for her. Find someone who can.” 

Healer Carter gave a harsh sniff, adjusted his tie, gave a slow blink, and spoke once more, “Sir, seeing as I am very knowledgeable in - ”

“- In wasting her time?” Fred argued, leaning forward and bracing his arms on his knees, “Because that is all you’ve appeared to be doing. Do you  _ not _ know who she is? She has more important things to be doing than to be coming to you once a month because you couldn’t do your job right the first time, or every time thereafter.” 

Healer Carter unclasped his hands, placing them flat against the desk, and his upper lip disappeared completely in his scowl. “Sir, I - ”

“ - owe her an apology, and a new healer, or else I’ll be sitting in this chair every appointment here on out and treating you just as poorly as you’re treating her,” Fred insisted. He slowly sat back in his chair, staring the other man down for a moment or two to let his threat settle in, and then turned sweetly to look at Hermione, as if they’d been discussing the weather, “You were saying?” 

Holding in her laugh seemed like a Herculean task, but she managed to smother it with a smile as she turned to Healer Carter once again to ask, “I would like to be assigned a new healer. I won’t be asking again.” 

Healer Carter huffed, blinked roughly and shook his head as if he were pondering the  _ nerve _ of them, and grumbled that a Mediwitch would show them to a new healer. 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when they exited the room, and felt a weight release its clutches from her shoulders. 

“He was fun - did you see that vein in his forehead pop out?” Fred whispered conspiratorially, coughing once he found himself with an armful of brunette curls connected to a vice like grip around his neck.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Hermione muffled into his suit jacket, grinning when Fred laughed against her hair. “He was a  _ nightmare _ .” 

“He was an  _ arse _ ,” Fred whispered into her, laughing when she nodded enthusiastically. 

“Miss Granger?” a Mediwitch called, and the two pulled apart to follow her down the halls, twisting and turning with no rhyme or reason before being placed into an examination room. 

Hermione hopped up on the exam table after depositing her bag into a chair, Fred claiming the small stool to aimlessly roam around the room. She breathed in a deep sigh of relief, smelling the cleaning charms that faintly mimicked their Muggle counterparts that reminded her of her parents’ dental practice. 

Before they could talk further, the door was already opening, and a familiar face was beaming back at them. 

“Well, long time, no see, you two!” Katie Bell grinned, flicking her short brunette hair out of her face as she shut the door behind her. 

“Hey!” Fred answered brightly, standing to give her a quick hug around the shoulders, “I didn’t know you were working here!” 

“Yeah, I decided that the Potions ward just wasn’t for me and thought a change was in order,” she said with a shrug, twisting around him to smile at Hermione - who couldn’t be happier at her turn of luck. “‘Lo, Hermione!” 

“Hi, Katie,” she responded with a grin. 

“How’s Alicia?” Fred asked as Katie claimed the stool that he’d been spinning around on moments prior, deciding instead it best that he hang back as Katie got her station in order. 

“She’s good - new Quidditch coach at Hogwarts, can’t believe that Madame Hooch stepped down, but Alicia loves it there,” she answered with a smile, her wedding ring sparkling on a chain around her neck. “How’s George? Heard he’s gotten paired with Angelina in all this mess - that’s hilarious.” 

“That’s what  _ I  _ think,” Fred agreed, shooting a  _ told you so _ look to Hermione, which made her roll her eyes as she rolled up her sleeves in preparation for Katie to begin her work, “He’s good - we just decided that he’ll take over the Hogsmeade location once Lee moves on, so him and Alicia are likely to bump into one another.” 

“Oh, she’d love that,” Katie said as she stood, moving to Hermione to take her blood. “And I heard that you caused a bit of fuss with Healer Carter - well done, he’s an arse.” 

Hermione caught her laugh, biting her lip as she watched the transaction take place, “Long time coming - I had to call in the calvary to finally get rid of him.” 

“Surprised I didn’t hear fireworks go off, Fred,” Katie teased, the tip of her tongue poking between her teeth as she worked. 

“They were plan B,” he responded as he settled into the chair in the corner, holding Hermione’s bag in his lap as he watched. 

“They were not,” Hermione snapped, shooting him a glare. 

“Don’t check my pockets, and sure they weren’t,” he said with a smile, to which she huffed. 

“Now, I read a bit in your file, but I’d like to hear from you what’s been going on,” Katie said, getting right to business as she pocketed a vial of Hermione’s blood. 

Hermione recounted her symptoms, and the attempts that Healer Carter had made, and her worries about what the Marriage Law entailed - but Katie was quick to wave them off. 

“So long as we’re actively making attempts to fulfill their requests, then there’s nothing more they can do,” Katie insisted, fiddling with her ring as she spoke, although a deep frown on her face told what she thought of the marriage law. “Should they come after the two of you for failure to meet their terms in a timely manner, you come to me. I’m on your side here.” 

“Thanks, Katie,” Hermione said with a sigh, feeling another weight loosen its grip on her. Truth be told, being reassigned to someone else had been something of a concern - like Ginny and Fred had insisted, the Weasleys were already her family. She trusted them with her life. 

“Now - strip!” she said exuberantly, Fred giving a loud cough and bolting out of his seat. “What did you think she was here for, Weasley?” she asked as he went to leave the room, his face and ears stained red. 

“I don’t need to be here for it, Bell!” he insisted, tossing Hermione’s bag onto her lap as he made to move to the door, his gaze trained firmly on the ground. 

“It’s Bell-Spinnet - you were at the wedding!” she hollered, grinning once he’d made his escape, and the door was shut. Hermione found herself laughing at the expression on Katie’s face, and already felt a major improvement in her mood alone.

The examination was completed, Katie cracking jokes and inquiring as to the whereabouts of other Hogwarts members to keep her at ease, and called Fred back in once Hermione was redressed and seated in the armchair he’d hurriedly vacated from. 

Katie conjured a similar chair, grinning cheekily at Fred as he glared warily at her, and although the two kept their comments to themselves, Hermione could see that they were dying to take digs at one another. Back in school, Hermione could remember that the twins normally hung around Angelina, Alicia, and Lee. Whereas Katie had been keen to float around any social groups that sprung up in the House, as she was the type of person who was able to find a friend in anyone. Hermione could remember roaring with laughter late into the night, because Katie had declared that a slumber party was in order, and had been able to chorale the different years of girls into one room and find something for everyone to converse about. 

So, Katie and the twins got on swimmingly, always finding something to laugh or joke about. She hadn’t really spoken to her since the war, yet every new piece of news she heard about the woman always made her smile. It seemed that she was happy with the life she’d made for herself, and Hermione felt pleased at the idea. If anyone deserved it, it was Katie. 

“Now, although Healer Carter is - as we’ve agreed - an arse, I still don’t want to pull you off of the potions immediately,” Katie stated, looking over Hermione’s chart with a hum. “We’ll ween you off of this one, pop you onto another, and hopefully ween you off of that one. As it is, I don’t think this is just your body doing it’s thing - I think that something else is going on, and I’d like to research further before making suggestions.” 

Hermione frowned, as that certainly couldn’t be good news, but nodded anyway. 

“Will she be in any pain?” Fred asked, looking to Hermione before turning back to Katie. 

“Are you in pain now?” Katie asked, blinking worriedly at her. 

Hermione faltered, thinking it over, “There’s normally a dull pain, like a cramp almost, when I take these potions. It never really goes away, it just gets easier to deal with, and sometimes I’m able to forget about it.” 

Katie hummed again, rolling her stool one way and then another as she deliberated, “Then I won’t take you off of the second potion for a while then, until we get more of an idea of what we’re dealing with. I’ll also give you a few doses of a special pain potion, just in case.”

“Does that mean I can’t take it?” Fred asked with a pout. 

“Do you have a uterus?” Katie questioned with a grin. At the shake of his head, Katie responded, “Then no - you may not take her pain potions.”

“Darn,” he said with a sigh. Hermione huffed a laugh before refocusing on the conversation at hand. 

“If it’s not just my body doing it’s thing, then what’s going on?” Hermione asked instead, feeling her leg begin to idly bounce on its own accord. 

“I’d love to know, but unfortunately I’d need to run some tests and do some research before I can even begin to speculate,” Katie said with another frown, her own foot tapping. “I will keep in contact at every step of the way, because I know how scary this can be for you.” 

“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” Hermione said, and she meant it. It felt so much better to be taken seriously, to be listened to at all, and not be kept in the dark at every instance. 

“In the meantime, try your best not to worry - I don’t see anything that sends me into a panic, so you shouldn’t either,” she said gently, tapping Hermione’s foot with her own and giving a soft smile. “Take care of yourself, and rest often.” 

Fred snorted, and Hermione and Katie each shot him a glare. “Have you  _ met _ Hermione Granger?” 

“I have - and unfortunately, I’ve met you, too,” she responded, standing with a grin and prompting them both to do the same. “If you have any further questions, comments or concerns,  _ please _ owl me. Or even come by - this one has access to the Floo, and I’ll remember to add you too.” 

Hermione blinked in surprise, turning to look up at Fred, who shrugged lamely. 

“Him and George never visit anyway,” Katie said with a deep, forlorn sigh. 

“You and Alicia could visit,” Fred argued with a frown. 

  
“Can’t - your place is likely an explosion waiting to happen, and I rather like my wife to not see her be blown to pieces,” she quipped, walking them out into the hall. 

“We’ve toned it down on the explosives, thank you,” he snorted, although he ruffled her hair as he passed as thought they had just finished talking about when the next Quidditch practice would be, and promised to see each other then. “Don’t be a stranger, Mrs. Spinnet.” 

Katie didn’t correct him, but instead smiled to Hermione with a glimmer in her eye. Hermione gave her a quick hug, and was assured that there was certainly no one more deserving of happiness than Katie Bell-Spinnet.

The trip back to the shop was quiet and quick, and Hermione was left standing in the twins’ backroom as though the day hadn’t already passed by, the only apparent passage of time was that the lighting in the room had shifted, and that George was not still sitting at his desk and shouting about Fred’s trickery at Unicorn-Dementor-Wand. 

Fred paused, appraising her reaction and giving a silent tip of his head to inquire as to her thoughts. It startled her that she’d noticed that that was exactly what he was doing, but smiled and shrugged and moved into the showroom floor to say her goodbyes to George and Verity, thank Fred again for his help, and reclaim what was left of her workday. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you're here to discuss information about later chapters, welcome. Unfortunately, I hope that I've done a good enough job of being vague enough to conceal the entire plot, while still giving enough information to allow someone to back out now before they have to endure reading something that they may not wish to read. This could just be me being paranoid, but I know that I turn to fanfics as a solace from the real world and don't enjoy being reminded of the things I'm trying to avoid. (For an example, I once read a fanfic where a character suddenly cheated on their partner, with no warning in the tags or summary. I had been reading the fanfic to avoid thinking of how I had been cheated on. The wound was fresh, and that did not help any. Everything's all well and good now, but tears did flow on that night. I'd rather spare anyone from having to deal with a similar issue - must be the Hufflepuff in me <3)
> 
> As a warning now, which I hate to hide in the end notes but felt it the only appropriate place to do so, this story will speak more of issues surrounding having a uterus, problems conceiving, etc. as well as discussing more of what transpired during the war. (Because, ya know, every HP fic author likes to make the war worse than it was originally depicted. There's probably something about that which means we all need therapy, but here you are reading anyway. You rebel.)
> 
> Without giving away the "gotcha" moments of the plot, I will probably eventually be getting into some moderately heavy stuff, and will appropriately warn when such a warning becomes necessary, but just wanted to take a moment to ease into the idea and maybe discuss a rating change as the time draws near.


	6. Running Out of Places to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't meant to update - or even write - so quickly, but I'd found that inspiration had struck me in the middle of my Shakespeare class. As it was a recorded, online lecture on a topic I am very familiar with, I was free to type out the first half within two hours. I can assure you it was a fluke, but a happy one. Enjoy!
> 
> "Losing my mind, I'm running out of places to go/ You think I'm fine, it's funny how our faces can show  
> What's never right, and I aint meaning to cry/ I'm losing steam, I'm finding that I'm already gone  
> From what I've seen, you'd probably come running along/ It's never clear, and I don't even think that I know  
> I'm running out of places to go" - Riley Whisler, "Running Out of Places to Go"

Hermione had thought, almost naively, that things had been going well. 

Work had been going relatively smoothly, as her and Percy had managed to move to a whole other filing cabinet, and their boss had stopped by and seemed impressed by their progress. The moment he’d left, she and Percy had been almost giddy about the praise, talking about what department they’d want to be transferred to once their work was done. 

Percy had decided on International Magic Cooperation, as he figured that it would be extremely helpful later on when he wanted to become Minister. 

Hermione had decided on the department concerning the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, as she wanted to do a massive overhaul of the system before becoming Minister for Magic.

They joked about their rivalry and their various campaign platforms, but ultimately it was all in good fun. 

Her good mood had carried with her into her lunch with Fred, at the Leaky Cauldron this time, and he questioned about her smile as they sat down across the table from one another. 

Hermione had recounted the praise she and his brother had received from their boss with a beam, eager to lay out the groundwork for her plan to success, but it all crumbled when Fred couldn’t hide a wince for a split second. 

“What?” she asked, her brows pinching together, and Fred feigned innocence. “You made a face - what was that about?” 

“Nothing - happy if you’re happy,” he said, and grimaced as her gaze narrowed and her arms came to cross over her chest. “Really, Hermione - glad you’re having a good day.” 

“No, you’ve got an opinion, say it,” she argued, settling into her seat and arching her brows sharply. She felt rather like she had in school, as a Prefect, getting onto the twins for their jokes and humoring their excuses or complaints. But there was no shiny badge against her chest, and this was about her career. She wanted to hear it.

Fred exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, and avoided her eye as he said, “I just never thought you belonged in the Ministry, that’s all.” 

She felt a little of the steam pull out of her, curious as to his reasoning, and tilted her head, urging him to go on. 

“They’re keeping you - and Percy - doing busy work so you two won’t be able to do anything advanced,” he said with a shrug, grabbing a chip off of his plate and chewing thoughtfully, “You’re wasting your time and talents there.” 

The steam returned, with a full fledged, roaring fire rising intensely in her chest and burning all the way up her neck and face, and she felt her jaw set, “That isn’t true - Percy and I’s work right now is only temporary.” 

“Sorting through archaic files that have no substance or meaning,” he said, speaking coolly, as if he were explaining a difficult concept to her. “Tell me, how long has the Ministry of Magic been an establishment?”

“It was physically founded in 1707, but consisted of a group of individuals with dedicated jobs as early as 1562,” she recited hotly. 

“And, since its creation, how many documents do you think there are? Thousands, right? Yet you and Percy have only been working away on one tiny room for months on end. Don’t you think there’s more outdated, useless documents waiting in the wings for you two?” Fred insisted, clasping his hands and placing them on the tabletop. It was the most serious she’d ever see him be, especially with her, and it seemed as though he’d given the idea a great deal of thought - possibly from the moment Percy had announced his new position working alongside her. “And none of it matters, does it? In as long as you’ve worked there, how many files have you found that have actually been relevant today?” 

She worked her jaw, trying to come up with something, but her traitorous mind was drawing a blank.

“And it’ll only get more and more useless - congrats, Hermione and Percy, well done, but we’ve just found another set of files for you to sort, and since you’ve done such a great job with the last one, would you please go through these as well? And you’ll both say yes, because what’s one more room, and it’ll continue on and on until you wake up one day and realize you’re staring at your retirement party and wonder where it all went wrong.” 

Hermione stood abruptly, grabbing her coat and bag, and roughly made her way through the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring Fred’s feeble protests and marching her way down the street. 

How dare he? She shouldn’t have to sit there, and let him degrade her work - her  _ damn good _ work - and, and, and…

Her mind devolved into a whirlwind, bits and pieces of what Fred said struggling along in the maelstrom of her thoughts, recalling every day she’d clocked in and out and spent it all in a tiny, dingy, room that was kept out of sight and out of mind. 

“Percy,” Hermione said harshly, not remembering the trek back to their little - little broom closet, her shoulders shaking as she called his attention from the book he’d been reading. 

“Hermione, you’re back early,” he said, placing his feet from the corner of his desk and onto the floor, looking at her worriedly, “Everything alright?” 

“Is - is what we’re doing here,” she paused, looking around the room. They’d been working at it for months, and it looked the same. The piles of work just shifted around, moved locations and relevancy. She felt her blood boil at the sight of it. “Is it important?” 

“Of course it’s important, Hermione, we’re doing - ” he began, drawing himself up importantly, reciting the very same diatribe Hermione herself had been thinking only minutes ago. 

“No, no, not - not if you  _ think _ it’s important,” she insisted, her hands shaking now as she thrust out an arm at the - the absolute trash that littered the room. Her chest rattled and ached, and she could see that he was clueless and lost as she thrust her arm once more, waving it around wildly, “ _ Is _ it important?” 

Percy’s mouth opened and shut, and he was blinking rapidly, clearly unsure as to where she was coming from, “I - I don’t…” 

Hermione huffed, looking around the room once more, before deciding that she was sick of it, and turned on her heel to march out of the door. 

“Hermione, wait, where are you going?” Percy asked, following her hurried footsteps with a frenzied air around him. 

“I’m off to speak to our boss - and maybe Kingsley himself, I haven’t decided,” she answered, punching the button for the lift and tapping her foot impatiently as she watched the numbers above it whirl down, down, down to their level. They were practically in the basement. The absolute nerve.

“Wait, Hermione, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he insisted, but Hermione had slipped through the doors and began to hammer the button that would close the door on him, hoping to keep him from tagging along and trying to wind her down. She was a fool - an absolute, horrendous fool, and couldn’t believe that she’d been so blind. 

The lift betrayed her, and Percy managed to squeeze himself through the slow moving gap, and stood squarely in front of the door. “And what are you even going to say to our boss and - and the Minister for Magic?!” he asked, his voice pitching in a panic, his glasses sitting askew on his face. 

“I haven’t decided,” she answered, glaring at the buttons as if they’d personally wronged her, watching as they ascended. An eerie calm was settling over her, yet her mind was operating on instinct. She hadn’t made a decision, not consciously at least, but something was going to be done immediately. She refused to spend another day sorting files and papers that didn’t matter. 

None of it mattered. 

“I - I won’t let you do this!” Percy insisted, latching onto the lift opening as the doors opened just behind his back, fear traced along every edge of his face. “Think of your job, Hermione - think of  _ our _ job!”

“Move,” she announced, although she did so as she ducked under his arm and bobbed and weaved her way through the crowded atrium, hoping to lose him in the chaos of others coming and going on their lunch routines. Percy would only try to stop her, cover for her, smooth over anything she said - and what she said mattered, damn it. It was time someone listened to her. 

“Miss Granger - is there a problem?” their boss, who’d been sitting at his desk with a large sandwich on his plate, swiping mustard from his chin as she entered. 

“You’ve got Percy and I in a deadend, meaningless job to keep us from making advancements higher in the Ministry,” she said, and she heard Percy’s yelp from not too far off. She shouldn’t have told him where she was off to - he would’ve followed regardless of if she’d lost him in the crowd. 

Percy couldn’t get in a word before she saw the look on their boss’s face, going from confused and perplexed to an ashy white, devoid of color. 

Hermione felt the fire rise up in her again, and this time it released itself. 

“I refuse to have my time, and talents, and brain to be squandered and wasted by some geriatric, antiquated pigs that refuse to see any real change be set into motion for fear of the usurpation of their power,” she said lowly, quietly, seeing Percy going pale beside her, his hands moving slowly into his hair as if he were watching a horrendous accident take place before him with nothing he could do to stop it. 

She paused to gather her thoughts, knowing that her next words would need to be chosen very, very carefully, and Percy took his chance to give a low, ghastly moan. 

“She doesn’t mean it, sir, she doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he tried, shaking his head wildly, his glasses bouncing around on his face. 

Their boss’s mouth was hanging open, his eyes glassy as he gaped at her, and when he spoke again it stilled and chilled the blood within her veins. 

“How did you figure it out?” 

Beside her, Percy froze. 

Inside her, the lion returned after it’s lengthy hibernation. 

“I quit,” she hissed, turning on her heel and marching out of the door. 

It was as though she’d suddenly snapped back into herself - she was more than paperwork and filing cabinets and outdated information. She’d fought alongside Harry, Ron and the rest of them - she’d helped lead the bloody resistance movement, for Merlin’s sake, while most of the Ministry had gone belly up and given over to Voldemort’s command. She’d been fine with climbing the ladder, paying her dues, but that wasn’t what she’d been doing - she’d been shuttled off into a corner and told to be good, and she’d fucking done it. 

She’d made it to the statue in the atrium, one of Merlin himself, and fear struck her heart and faltered her step. 

Where was she supposed to go now? 

Her feet carried her, through the rest of the atrium and around the crowds, onto the street and around the shoppers, and entered Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes before she’d even thought of the idea. The bright lights took on a cheery tone, contrasting the storm inside of her, and the orange painted walls starkly contrasted the poor excuse of an office she’d just permanently vacated.

George looked up from the front counter, where he’d been helping a little boy decide on a Pygmy Puff, and gave her a calculating look as he watched her halt entirely in the entrance. “He’s in the back,” he said, nodding her along as she made her way through the crowded shop. 

When Hermione entered the backroom, Fred had been sitting at his desk, nestled against the back wall, lost in thought before he noticed the movement of the purple curtain that separated the two rooms. He looked up, a careful look in his eye, and stood slowly. 

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m not sorry for saying it,” he said, squaring his shoulders before tilting his head, “Maybe could’ve said it better, but - “

“You were right,” Hermione choked, the tears welling up and coming from somewhere deep in her chest as her world came crashing down around her. Fred startled, staring at her in shock, seeming to deflate himself as she wrapped her arms around her. “You were right - about everything,” she said, the sobs rushing out of her as she tried to fight it, tried to hold it all in to no avail. 

“Oh,” he said before he pressed his lips together, looking lost as to how to continue. After the war, she’d done a very good job at not breaking down around others, wanting them to be assured that they could come to her for comfort and support. The only ones who’d seen her fall apart had been Harry, Ron and Ginny, and it’d been ages since they’d ever seen her in such a state. But she was falling apart more than she ever had before, because the last normal aspect of her life had just crumbled down around her. “Well, that’s…” 

“I - I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice sounding very small, and before she knew it she was being ushered into the Floo and stepping into the twins’ flat, completely bypassing the stairs and the crowd and all of the eyes that would surely have tracked her distraught state. 

“Sit,” Fred ordered gently, placing her on the couch, and moved into the kitchen without preamble. Hermione sat, giving a great big sniff, and placed her face in her hands. 

Was she stupid? How could she have gone on for so long, thinking that she was doing anything substantial? 

Another sob hiccuped out of her, and then another. 

“I figured you needed something warm to hold,” Fred announced, his voice coming up from the side and gently taking her wrist from her face, putting a warm mug in her hands and causing her to pull her face out from its hiding spot. “Now,” he placed a hand on her back, and it was just as warm as the drink in her hands, “Talk to me.” 

So Hermione did. She talked about needing stability after the war, after her breakup with Ron, and finding it at the Ministry. She’d thought she’d had a purpose, and a cause, and a future there. She’d thought she was appreciated, and wanted, and useful. 

“I used work as a stand-in boyfriend,” she said harshly, and startled a laugh out of Fred. She sniffed, wiping at her eyes, as they’d yet ceased their crying, but at least she wasn’t sobbing now. She was unsure if they were hot, angry tears at the mistreatment or tears lamenting the loss of the idea she’d had about her life - she supposed they could work for both, as tears didn’t have to just be for one thing. Now they began anew when a different thought arose, and she pressed her forehead into her thumbs since her mug was still in her grasp. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.” 

  
Fred sighed, heavily, thinking it over as he let his arm drape across the back of the couch. “You know you don’t need to have things figured out right now, right?” At her pause, he shrugged, “You’ve jumped from school, to the war, to the Ministry. Do you even know what you want?” 

She frowned, staring into the mug that had grown steadily colder. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it,” she murmured. She’d done what she thought was required of her, always had. Excel in your studies to prove your worth in a world that deliberately hates upon your existence? She’d done it. Sacrifice your relationship with your family in order to protect them from a war you’re forced to participate in? She’d done that, too. Even the dream of becoming Minister for Magic had been something everyone had jokingly expected of her, as the Brightest Witch of Her Age, and she’d taken it seriously. The only real thing she’d desired had been the opportunity for change, and equality, and the door had been firmly shut since she’d first accepted her place at the Ministry. 

“What do you, Hermione Granger, want out of your life?” Fred insisted. She turned to look at him, suddenly realizing what had driven all of those experiments at Hogwarts and fights with his mother for all those years. Him and George had wanted something for themselves so badly, they’d been prepared to get into as much trouble as necessary in order to see their idea become a reality. And they’d managed it, and did it spectacularly well - they had a second location at Hogsmeade, and their Diagon shop was always extraordinarily busy. 

Hermione settled, trying to think it over. What did she want? Above all, what was something that would give her a purpose? Something to be passionate about, and fight over? While also still being in the realm of possibility - because the Ministry was no longer an option, and she was still dictated to marry the man sitting beside her. 

“I just want to be happy,” she said, quietly, drawing her knees up to her chest. It was at the admission that she realized how true her statement was, and felt herself sink further into the cushions, her head falling back against Fred’s arm. It was a very vague idea, but it was one that resonated within her. She wondered - how long had she been unhappy? She couldn’t come up with an exact day, yet before she could even attempt it, Fred had wrapped the arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest, the mug finding its way to the coffee table before any mess could be made. 

“We’ll figure that out, then,” Fred said quietly in her ear, and Hermione felt that maybe, with his help, it was something that could eventually happen. Certainly not that day, or the next, but in time - after all, Fred had had plenty of practice in chasing after wild ideas and seeing them come to life. 

Maybe he could will this one into place alongside the joke shop. 

They sat there for an endless length of time, both lost in thought, as the flat slowly darkened around them. They heard hesitant footfalls on the stairs outside the door and pulled away from one another, Hermione patting at the skin around her eyes as Fred stood and moved to pour the untouched mug of tea into the sink. The door slowly creaked open, George’s head poking through and his eyes roving around before alighting on Hermione, who offered a forlorn smile. His gaze widened, and he burst into the living room with a bang, the door striking against the wall behind it. 

“You made Granger  _ cry?! _ ” George hollered as he rushed into the living room, Fred scoffing as he prepared the kettle for another attempt at a tea. 

“I did not - ”

“I knew you two were having a row, but to make her  _ cry! _ ” 

“Oy! Ye of little faith!” 

“Tell me what he said, Hermione, and I’ll put him to rights - ”

“You’re my  _ twin! _ We shared a womb, and this is what I’m left with?!” 

It happened suddenly, and without warning, and it may have been because of the rollercoaster of emotions she’d been through that day, because it just happened. 

Hermione began to laugh, tilting her head back without restraint, standing as she made her way to comfort George. 

“I’m fine,” she said through her giggles, grinning at his affronted expression. “I quit my job today, and Fred was listening to me moan about it.” 

George dropped his metaphorical sword, releasing a puff of air and donning a sympathetic expression. “He was right then, I take it?” 

She nodded, the tears attempting to make a return, and she hurriedly blinked them away. George saw them, and tutted as he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her under his chin, swaying them gently. She gave a watery laugh, because it felt so much like something Mrs. Weasley would do, and returned the hug carefully. Who knew all she had to do to get a hug from either twin was as simple as turning on the waterworks? 

“I’m alright,” she muffled into his shirt, “Really.” 

“‘Course you are,” George said, patting her hair like she’d seen him do to Ginny. She sniffed again, refusing to cry on George now that she’d already done so with Fred. “I just really needed a hug, all of the sudden.” 

“I’d like to return to the accusation that I’ve just endured,” Fred said dully, across from the bar and holding one of three steaming mugs. “Honestly, I’m your brother, George, think a little highly of me, would you?” 

“Well, I didn’t know,” George huffed, still with his arms around Hermione and seemingly refusing to let go. “I walk in, Granger’s crying.” 

“He’d been comforting me up until you arrived, no need to worry,” Hermione said as she twisted in George’s grasp to face Fred fully, rolling her eyes fondly at the two of them. 

Fred scoffed, lifting the mug to his lips, yet it hid a small, fond smile that he thought the two of them wouldn’t see. He took a sip, then leant against the counter lazily, “So - as of right now, Granger is unemployed.” 

The term sent a prickle of fear up her spine, but George began to sway them enthusiastically, humming something like a waltz and bouncing her around to the rhythm. 

“Excellent timing, because Lee needs help at Hogsmeade and we were about to be short-staffed,” Fred began with a slow, cheshire grin. 

“You’re sending me to Hogsmeade?” Hermione asked with a blink. 

“We’re sending Verity to Hogsmeade - how ‘bout you help us here, for a bit?” George decided, pulling away just a smidge and taking one of her hands to hold out, still humming as he began to lead Hermione into a dance. 

“If you want, of course,” Fred insisted, although Hermione was being spun around their living room by his twin, and trying very hard to keep any toes from being smashed. 

She laughed, shaking her head at the two of them, and said, “Better than the Ministry, that’s for sure. When do I start?” 

Fred grinned, his eyes lighting up, although his face because out of sight when George took that moment to dramatically dip her, her hair skimming the floor as she shrieked at the sudden drop before dissolving into laughter. 

It wasn’t anything concrete, or lasting, or permanent - but it was a start. 

And Hermione needed a fresh one. 

* * *

Fred decided that he hadn’t known Hermione Granger as well as he’d thought he had. 

It was silly, really - he’d given her grief for not even knowing his first name, yet he only knew a fragment of the person he was assigned to. 

Where he thought she was stubborn and bull-headed, he learned there was a quiet, calculating intellect. Whatever she was about to go down swinging for, she’d already thought it through to the fullest extent. Where he considered her quiet and careful, he realized it was because she was busy in studying something - external or internal, he wasn’t sure, but it was very apparent if you could watch the thoughts flick across her face. 

He didn’t know when he’d picked up the habit, of just watching Hermione and trying to guess what she was thinking about. Just when he’d thought he had it pinned down, she’d surprised him. 

He hadn’t thought through his comment at the Leaky when he’d said it, how she might have received it. He couldn’t imagine sitting across the table from someone who barely knew him, started spewing negatives about his work, and then have to sit there and remember the forced marriage that would need to take place after all of it. He’d felt guilt roiling about in his stomach since she’d left the table, and had thought she’d never talk to him again. 

Instead, Hermione had taken it to heart, and seemed to have woken herself up. 

Her quitting her job hadn’t even crossed his mind, yet she’d done it. Just like that, without warning. 

Fred found himself fighting back a grin, leaning against the counter and watching as the witch went about stocking and reorganizing the shelves. 

It was a quiet day, as far as Thursday afternoons went, and Hermione had spent the past couple of days helping out at the shop. Even though it’d been a suggestion to get her mind off of - well, everything, he supposed - it seemed that he and George were reaping the benefits regardless. She’d done a full inventory, cast a spell that would update it as needed and alert them when stock was running low, reorganized potions ingredients and clearly labeled the volatile ones - and that had all been in the first day. He couldn’t even think of what she was doing now, beyond the apparent, but found it didn’t matter, as it was probably the right way to go about things all along, and he’d feel stupid for not thinking of it earlier. 

Fred looked up as the bell above the door dinged, ready to greet another customer, before he beamed at the familiar face. 

“We-he-hell,” he chimed with a grin, Oliver Wood blinking and grinning in return as he made his way towards him, “Here to make me and George do Beaters’ drills again?” 

“Depends - have you been smarting off, lately?” Oliver asked in his burr, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding him with a fond smile. 

The twins hadn’t spoken much to Oliver since his graduation from Hogwarts, as he’d been on the fast and frenzied track to professional Quidditch. They’d mused about buying tickets for the old Gryffindor team to see his first match together, but then the war had happened and they’d thought of other things that ranked more important. Still, it was good to see him in good health and spirits - whatever he’d been up to since the war, when Fred saw him last at his own bloody funeral, it had done him wonders. 

“Us? Hardly,” Fred scoffed before laughing, settling his hands on the counter, “What brings you in today? Needing to play a prank on your teammates, or the opponents?” 

Oliver’s brow darkened, and a frown marred his face, “I need to speak to your witch, actually.” 

Fred blinked, finding the request odd, and glanced to where he last saw Hermione amongst the displays. Oliver turned at his gaze just as Hermione rounded the corner of a shelf, where she paused, saw Oliver, and her own gaze narrowed. 

Now, what the hell was that about?

“Ye got some nerve, Granger,” Oliver began, and a wild-eyed panic overtook Fred as the confrontation began. 

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she continued in her tasks, her arm delving to replenish the Daydream Charms. “I haven’t done anything,” she insisted, although an angry frown was settling onto her face. 

“Oh? So he’s not holed up in bed and having a breakdown, because ye haven’t done anything?” Oliver asked, and Fred’s gaze volleyed back over to him, trying to make sense of things. “What were ya thinking?”

“That we were in a rubbish situation, and I took myself out of it,” she said, pausing as she mulled things over. Then, with a practiced flick of her wand that looked like it was straight out of the textbook instructions, she set the Daydream Charms to replenish themselves and moved towards the backroom. “Just as I’m doing now - tah!” 

Fred’s eyes bulged, and he settled in against the counter to watch as Oliver huffed, followed her, and gripped her arm to halt her. If it were aggressive, Fred might have intervened - as it were, Oliver merely gave a tug on her wrist, and Hermione’s feet halted, although she huffed. 

“No ye don’t - he’s losing it, and you’re just - ”

“Don’t tell me what I’m  _ just _ doing, Oliver,” Hermione interjected, whirling on him and jabbing her finger into his chest, “You don’t know what I’m sorting through and dealing with on my own - I’m so sorry that Percy has to deal with it too, but I’d rather this than waste away in that broom closet we called an office with a shared delusion of either of us becoming Minister.” 

And, all at once, Fred realized just what - or  _ who _ \- they’d been talking about, and it seemed to click into his brain as his jaw dropped open. Of course, it made some amount of sense - Percy wouldn’t have told the family for fear of their reaction, because it was Oliver. Nearly every Weasley sibling had been on a Quidditch team with Oliver, save for Bill, Ron, Ginny and Percy himself - yet the family each knew him and thought fondly of him. 

Well what was Percy thinking? Fred wondered. The family loved him, and if he was happy with Oliver then who would pitch a fit. He realized with a wince that he and George might’ve taken the mickey out of him, but why would that have stopped him? 

He realized with a start that he’d missed a large chunk of the argument, and the two were currently having a stare down. It was almost sort of funny - Hermione was nearly a foot shorter than Oliver, yet he could see that she would have no qualms in standing up for herself against him. 

“If I might interject - since, you know, it’s about my brother and all,” Fred said, the two startling and wincing as they turned to him. “He’ll be fine in a week or so, he was the same when he ditched the Ministry during the war. Just give him something to take his mind off of it.” 

“It’s just that he’s miserable, and I’m leavin’ on tour soon,” Oliver said with a sigh, raking his hand through his hair. 

“So you come down to my shop and harass my hard-working employee?” Fred asked, mostly teasing, although he settled a hard look on his former Quidditch captain. “She was stocking the shelves, mate! I didn’t even ask her to do it!” 

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes at him before she turned to Oliver, “Fred’s right - preoccupy him as much as you can, get his mind off of things, and he’ll be over it before you know it.” 

“And if he isn’t?” he asked, and Fred saw that his aggravation with Hermione was coming from a place of concern for Percy. 

“You send him to me,” she replied dutifully, watching carefully as Oliver rubbed a hand down his face. It was that calculating look - she was mulling over something, no doubt some obligation she felt to one or both of them. 

“Nah - send him to George and I,” Fred said, grinning at their curious looks, “Who am I to turn down free labor?” 

“He’s paying me - ignore him,” Hermione insisted at Oliver’s worried glance. 

“I am?” he asked, but he was ignored. 

“Fine - I’ll probably drag him to the Burrow, since the secret’s out ‘nd all,” Oliver said, shooting a glance to Fred. 

“I’m not the one having it out in a very popular joke shop on Diagon Alley,” he quipped dully. 

Oliver laughed, a loud and quick one, as the grin returned. He patted Hermione’s hair, then Fred’s arm, and then disappeared out the door as though he’d never first stepped through it. Hermione moved to the edge of the counter, reclining against it much as Fred was, and rolled her eyes so hard that Fred was worried they’d get stuck. 

“I feel a bit offended that Percy felt the need to keep secrets from the lot of us,” Fred murmured. “Like we wouldn’t approve, or something.”

Hermione hummed, settling her chin on her fist, a quick glance over her shoulder telling her that the Daydream Charms had been sufficiently placed in her absence. “Don’t - the secret wasn’t because of your family, but because of the Quidditch team.” She turned her gaze onto him, a sad tilt to her head before she spoke again, “Can you think of any popular Quidditch players that publicly came out during the height of their popularity?”

Fred could think of none, and his gaze turned hard as he looked at her, “He’s afraid of that?” It wasn’t so much that he was angry, but there was a burning need to shout about something, and he wasn’t sure where to direct that need. He knew better, now, than to go shouting at Hermione - and besides, she had nothing to do with the matter.

“Not him - his managers,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “They threatened to bench him ‘indefinitely’ if he tried.” 

Fred inhaled deeply, kept it deep in his lungs, and then exhaled it along the anger and outrage. There wasn’t much he could do, not without Percy’s say so - and even then, he wasn’t sure what he could get away with.

“Oliver’s the most popular player on the team,” Hermione mumbled. 

Fred thought through the roster, snorting derisively, “He’s the only one without a public girlfriend or wife.” He chewed on his cheek - yeah, well, there’d been a reason for that, hadn’t there? 

“Think I heard talks he was about to make Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor - but that was before the Law was passed,” she said with a smile, righting herself and shaking her head. “No, whatever needs to happen needs to happen through Oliver and Percy - it’s their decisions to make and enforce.” 

“But I could plant  _ sooo _ many portable swamps at their practice stadium,” Fred insisted with a low whine, pitching himself across the counter as he looked pleadingly up at Hermione. 

“Believe me - the moment they started to get serious, I wrote to every manager, assistant and spokesperson for Puddlemere United that I could find,” she said with a huff. 

“Vicious,” Fred declared, and Hermione looked to him with a grin as though it was a compliment. It rather was, if he were honest - and Fred did like to think of himself as an honest man. 

Hermione settled back into work at the arrival of a few customers, showing them to the Wonder Witch products and giving her opinion - and Fred was left to settle back against the counter and ponder. 

No, he really didn’t know Hermione as well as he’d thought. 

But getting to know her was half of the fun.


	7. Stormy Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Found Family.   
> Forsaken Family.  
> Fred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Turns out I'm wrong/ Nobody needs to be lonely/ But back on the run/ You were never there to show me/ That this was ours/ And we'd go far..." - Ed Whicher, "Stormy Weather"

“So you quit? Like -  _ quit _ -quit?”

“I don’t think there’s another way of wording it, Ron,” Harry replied, muffled into the wood of the table at Grimmauld Place. “Yes, she quit.” 

“‘Bout time,” Ginny chimed in from the stove, poking and prodding at Lavender's creation before the other witch swatted her away.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Hermione mumbled, growing agitated at the unwelcomed fanfare. It’d been nearly a week, and the other Weasleys had learned about it over the weekend, although it was overshadowed by Oliver Wood’s appearance at the dinner table. Now, however, that she was sitting at the table across from Harry and Ron while Ginny oversaw whatever it was that Lavender was doing, it seemed to be all they could talk about. 

She couldn’t really blame them - it had certainly come out of nowhere. Percy seemed to have been gradually doing better from across the dinner table, and by the time Hermione could corner him, he’d been laughing. She’d apologized for upheaving their world, but Percy had wound up thanking her for doing so. 

“I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to be doing next, but rest assured it’s going to be far more important than sifting through papers on the Goblin hierarchy of 1172,” he’d promised, and Hermione felt settled that there were no hard feelings between her and Percy. Apparently, he’d walked out of the door behind her and had gone straight to Oliver’s flat to have his own meltdown. 

“And you’re working at the twins’ shop?” Ron asked, still trying to wrap his head around the news. She’d admit, it didn’t necessarily make the most sense as far as things went, but it was marginally better than her previous job. 

“I’m more helping out while I figure things out,” she answered. 

“Well I think it’s great - you shouldn’t waste your life away working for people that don’t appreciate you,” Lavender announced importantly, never turning from her task of stirring a great big cauldron of something. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said with a smile, turning and cocking a brow at her. She was standing on a stool to peer over the edge of the cauldron on the stove, a hilarious mix of wizard teaching and Muggle upbringing. She stood, making her way over to her, and saw a swirling abyss of darkness tinged with red foam. “What on Earth are you doing?” 

“I’m dyeing table runners,” she said with a proud smile, tapping her large spoon on the side of the cauldron, as though she were making soup. “For the wedding.” 

Ron and Lavender decided to get their wedding out of the way before all of the Ministry-mandated ones needed to take place, and Lavender had the idea to create most of her decorations. She’d gotten lace and fabric and centerpieces and other lovely things the weekend before, having been preparing for it nearly the moment they’d gotten engaged, and Hermione would be safe in assuming that the only thing she bought first-hand was her wedding dress. 

“What are your colors again?” Ginny asked as she stood warily to the side, no doubt worried about any possible stains upon the countertops. The moment that Harry had moved into Grimmauld place, renovations had begun almost immediately, and what was once a dark, dreary abode was now a warm and cheery household. Hermione loved stopping by to visit, especially with Teddy hanging on her every limb and begging for her attention in one way or another. Now, however, it was nap time - something that she, Harry and Andromeda all staunchly agreed on. 

“Maroon and sage,” Lavender replied before turning to Hermione, arching a brow accusingly, “Have you even thought about your colors?” 

Hermione groaned, spinning on her heel and returning to the table with her boys - who wouldn’t ask such things of her. 

“If you’re not careful, they’ll be orange and purple,” Harry teased, lifting his head to shoot her a grin. 

“You’d look horrendous in orange, Hermione,” Ron responded dully. 

Hermione gaped in outrage, taking her scarf off of the back of her chair and swatting him with it, “You’re one to talk! You and your Chudley Cannons memorabilia!” 

The room burst into laughter as Ron sought to outrun her, ducking behind and around Harry as he remained where he was. “The Chudley Cannons are sure to win their next game, and it’ll send them to the finals - !”

“Fat chance,” Ginny snorted, “They’d need to win  _ five _ games for a chance at the finals, and they’re only scheduled for three more before the end of the season.” 

“You need to drop your losing team - you even have a sister on the Holyhead Harpies, about to be two with Angelina, and then Oliver’s at Puddlemere - “ Harry continued, even as Ron ducked below his elbow to hide from Hermione’s ire, her glare tracking him. 

“Hermione wouldn’t even  _ be _ wearing orange - she’d be wearing  _ white _ , at her  _ wedding _ ,” Lavender stressed, turning to her fiance with a huff before turning thoughtful, “Unless she wants to choose otherwise, of course.” 

Hermione groaned, collapsing back into her chair and burying her face in her hands before climbing them into her hair, “Do I have  _ any _ choice?”

“Of course you do, Hermione,” Harry insisted, reaching over to grab one of her hands and squeeze it tightly, concern drawing his eyebrows together. “Listen, if there’s anyone who can figure a way out of this, I’m certain it’s you.” 

Hermione gave a half-hearted smile, because she wasn’t entirely sure that she believed that. Maybe, if things were a little bit different, if she had a little more information, she could fight against the marriage law. As it were, she had no leg to stand on - and certainly no inside men, as Harry and Ron didn’t even deal with the legislation side of the Ministry. 

“You could always go with purple,” Ron said, shrugging at her and Harry’s confused glances, “You know. Instead of orange.” 

Hermione snorted, her smile slowly coming back as Ron grinned at her, taking his seat at her other side, across from Harry. 

“Look, even though it’s not under ideal circumstances, and it wasn’t how you saw things going - I’m beyond thrilled that you’re marrying Fred,” Ron said, grinning wider still as everyone turned to stare imploringly at him. “You’re the only person who could control the twins - even Mum couldn’t, and she’d given birth to the both of them.” 

“Well, yes, Ron, that is how that works,” Ginny snarked, her brother shooting her a glare to shush her. 

“He’s got a point,” Lavender insisted, turning her back on her brew and leaning against a counter, “You do hold your own against them - anyone else, they’re likely to steamroll. You don’t even give them a chance.” 

Hermione hummed, tapping her free hand - as Harry still had claim on the other - against the table, before Ron gripped that one too. 

“You’ve always been family, ‘Mione - this just makes it official,” he said, a warm smile on his face, and Hermione couldn’t find fault in him for looking at the bright side of it. Harry gave another series of squeezes, grinning between the two, before Ron perked up considerably. “We’re Weasleys! All of us!” 

“Harry and I are Potters, thank you,” Ginny chided, but Ron shot her another glare that seemed to plead with her to not ruin his sentimental idea. 

Hermione stayed with them for a few more hours, busying herself with good friends, food and Teddy once he awoke from his nap. Her godson had decided that his books need reorganizing, and Hermione was more than happy to help - she realized with a start that she’d sat in the floor with the little boy curled up in her lap and reading to him until dark, and only then it was because Harry had caught her from the doorway and inquired as to his bedtime. 

When she left Grimmauld place, she decided to walk through her neighborhood, grabbing flowers for her dining room table just because she could, and set them to fit a vase and fill with water before a noise startled her out of her quiet reprieve. 

The apartment had come with the telephone, wall mounted and a pale mint green, and she’d been eager to facilitate a better relationship with her parents, so she’d made the effort to pay the monthly bill and try to call them at least once a month. However, she’d never gotten a phone call in over a year of living there, so she was a little shocked at it’s sharp, tinny sound echoing through the quiet of her flat.

“Hello?” Hermione asked, pressing a hand to her rattling heart as it battered against her ribcage. 

“Hermione - we just saw you left a message, so sorry,” her mother said from the other end, and she could picture her standing beside the kitchen sink, overlooking the window with a cup of tea, the phone chord trailing along the length of the kitchen while her dad would try to duck and dodge around it in an attempt to cook dinner. “Was there something you needed?” 

Anxiety clenched in her throat, and she began to pace in the small space that separated her living room and dining room, the chord winding around her as she walked. “Actually, yes - I was wondering when the next time you and Dad were available for tea,” she said, wincing at the inquiry and all that it would inevitably entail. 

“I’ll have to check your father’s schedule, but as far as I know our Sunday is free,” she answered smoothly, keeping her voice diplomatic. Just as she always had since the aftermath of the war and their recovery - had things been more normal, her mum would be ecstatic that she was asking. The difference hurt. 

“I, uhm, I’ll be bringing someone for you two to meet,” she said, biting her lip and working to unwind the chord from around her leg, unaware that it’d been happening in the first place. 

“Oh,” her mother said, her interest minimally sparked, and for a brief moment Hermione felt hope before - “Are they...from work, school…?”

Hermione gritted her teeth, staring up at the ceiling as she fought the desire to lie, just to get her to be normal for even a moment. But, she’d told Fred that she’d wanted to be honest and communicate with her parents, because they deserved that much. “School, I guess - it’s Fred Weasley.”

“Hmm,” she heard, and Hermione could feel the disappointed buzzing through the receiver, “Which one is Fred, again?” 

“He’s one of the twins,” she said, rubbing at her eyes, her good day slowly but surely leaving her body and leaving her tired and drained. “He’s got a shop on Diagon. Look - there’s something that I need to tell you and Dad, and it’s better to be done in person.” 

“Alright,” she said, almost sighing herself, and Hermione felt a flash of irritation, mixed with a bit of whatever the gaping chasm in her chest was offering her before she continued, “I’ll call if plans change, but I suppose Sunday at two will work.”

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, “I’ll be there.” 

“Mmhmm,” her mother responded. “Well, if that’s all, we’ll see you then.” 

Hermione hadn’t even got out a goodbye before her mother hung up. She banged the phone back onto it’s hook, the two seconds of dial tone only serving to make her cry, and then found herself pressing into the wall for stability. 

How did it all get so bad? No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t patch things back together - but she’d keep trying, because what else could she do? They were her parents, and she’d made this decision. The least she could do was see things through, no matter how much it hurt.

She looked to the clock, staring blankly at its face for a few moments before there was a knock at the door. Still in a haze, Hermione moved to answer it, only to be tripped and sent to the floor by the phone chord still maintaining it’s grip around her leg, the receiver flying off of the hook and hitting her in the ankle, directly on the bone. She cursed and groaned, and winced when the door opened and whoever it was let themselves in. 

“What on earth happened to you?” Fred asked, towering over her before he crouched down beside her, looking at her bemusedly as she glared back at him. 

“Nothing,” she spat, sitting up and grappling with the chord yet again, “What are you doing here?” 

“You left your cardigan at the shop,” he answered, pointing at where he draped it over the back of a chair. “Do you need help?” 

She sighed, stared at the damage, and then nodded, swiveling around to place her leg on his knee as he tried to unwind it himself. 

“You seem less happy than Ginny reported,” he commented, Hermione blinking as she met his careful blue eyes, focused on her face. 

“You saw Ginny?” she asked. 

“I did - I thought you were still at Grimmauld, she said I had just missed you,” he answered, huffing as the cable gave him the same amount of trouble and sitting properly on the floor, her leg still propped against his knee. “Merlin - this is worse than Devil’s snare.” 

Hermione huffed a laugh, propping her arms against her free leg, and watched him attempt to free her. “I’d prefer we not set my leg on fire, but I’ll accept it as a last resort.” 

“Seriously - what’s up?” Fred asked again, picking up the receiver and looking at it quizzically, twisting it left and right as he studied it. 

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes, and decided it was best to fess up, “I just got off of the phone with my mother.” 

“Ahh,” he intoned, looking up at her carefully before returning to his task. “I take it that it could have gone better?” 

“She just - she acts like I’m a stranger,” Hermione said before frowning at her kneecap, picking at a few small threads that were coming loose in her well worn jeans, “I suppose I rather am, now.” 

“Now, I haven’t noticed any differences,” Fred said, stopping in his task and peering closely at her, tilting his head this way and that just as he had with the phone, “Hmmm - no, still the same Granger. You haven’t changed in years.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him, but offered a small grin, “They think I have.” 

“They must not have known you as well as they thought they did,” he argued before frowning, “If it were different, and I were in your shoes back then, I imagine I would’ve done the same. I think anyone would - if they can’t understand that, then they don’t understand the situation that you were in.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, muffled against her knee, although she managed a small smile that Fred accepted, as he nodded and turned back to his task, picking the receiver back up to glare at it again. “Anyway, if you’re free Sunday, then tea is at two.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he said, ceremoniously unplugging the cord from the receiver, and Hermione’s mouth dropped open at the sheer simplicity of the idea, that he halted all motion, his wide gaze tracking her face for any sign of emotion to gauge the situation. “Was that something I wasn’t supposed to do?” 

“No - I just didn’t think of it,” she said with a groan, flopping back onto the floor with her arm over her eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache pound against her temples, “My life is falling apart.” 

“You’re fine,” Fred chided, steadily unwinding the chord from around her calf with much more progress now that the receiver wasn’t hindering things. 

“I forgot how Muggle phones work.” 

“I come from a strong ling of tinkerers, Dad has one of these in his shed that sings Frank Sinatra that George and I were particularly fond of as tots.” 

“I’m unemployed.”

“You’re at my shop every day and I’m paying you.” 

“My parents hate me.” 

“My parents love you, so at least you have a backup.” 

  
Hermione snorted - it wasn’t funny, and she shouldn’t have been laughing, but she was giggling anyway, lifting her arm to find Fred completely done in his task, his head in his hands and her leg on his knee, watching her laugh with something like pride. It was understandable, really, as he’d cheered her out of a massive bad mood. He could consider it a testimony to his craft, really. 

“Yeah,” she said lamely, shaking her head as she moved her leg and sat up, plugging the cord back into the receiver and letting Fred take a hand to help her stand. “You know, you didn’t need to bring the cardigan all the way here, I would’ve grabbed it tomorrow.” 

“Ahh, there’s the perceptive Granger I know,” he said, tapping a finger to her nose with a grin as she scrunched it at him, turning to place the phone back on the hook. “I needed to talk to you.” 

She hummed, bypassing him and heading to put the kettle on as he followed her to the kitchen, “What about?” 

“Marriage law stuff,” he said, sharing a grimace with her before he hopped up and onto a countertop, much like Ginny did when she came over. “Since we’ve got about two months until the deadline, I figured we could talk about some things.” 

“Like…?” she prodded, digging out various tea boxes and offering them to him to peruse while the water boiled. 

He faltered, taking the time to sniff a box of Earl Grey before speaking, “Who moves into where? When’s the wedding? Do we want an actual wedding or just sign the papers? Are you taking my last name? Am I taking your last name? Are we hyphenating? And, if so, whose name goes first?” 

“Merlin,” she groaned, banging her head against a cupboard - she’d done it for dramatics sake, but it actually smarted, so she pulled away rubbing her forehead. “I don’t know….” 

“I suppose I should’ve done one at a time,” Fred decided, pulling out a sachet of black tea that had notes of cranberry and orange before twisting and grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard beside him. 

Hermione bit her lip, turning to face him as she thought, looking around at the apartment they inhabited and feeling a sense of sadness wash over her, “Well, it wouldn’t make sense for us to move in here when you’ve already got the shop.” 

“You’re sure?” Fred asked, his eyebrows arching before coming down above his eyes, looking very concerned. “I don’t mind - ”

“I’m sure,” she assured, and they proceeded on with solving the rest of their problems. 

So the tea was poured, they assumed seats at the table, and deliberated together. They’d hold a wedding, date still unknown, to appease their parents and create some semblance of normalcy, and they’d have it at the Burrow. Hermione would begin to move into the flat above the shop before the wedding, as it still wasn’t set, and it’d make more sense to cease paying rent before the end of the month. As for their names, they decided to keep their own last names - they’d be legally married anyway, why should they have to change their names? Although, Fred had made a compelling argument for creating an entirely different last name that they would each switch to - “It would be fair!” - but they decided against it. 

By the time the dust had settled, it was past midnight, and Hermione was too busy laughing to notice the time. 

“I’m just saying - George dating Angelina is far better than if the Ministry had plopped  _ me _ and Ange together,” Fred insisted, a grimace on his face as she smothered her laugh behind her hand. “We’d murder each other.” 

“Did you two fall out that badly?” she asked, standing and putting on the kettle for yet another pot of tea. This might have been their third, but she wasn’t entirely sure. 

“It was a horrendous breakup,” he groaned, rubbing his hands down his face, “I saw her at the shop the other day, did I tell you?” 

“No - where was I?” she asked, trying to think through her whereabouts during the day, but coming up empty - it’d been nearly a full week since she’d started working for the twins. 

“Backroom, I think,” he hummed. 

“And how did it go?” 

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, “Awful. Awkward. Hilarious. We really burned bridges, and now she’s going to be my sister-in-law.” 

“Married to George, no less,” Hermione laughed, turning to lean against the counter to face him while she waited on the kettle to unleash its piercing wail.

“I mean, imagine if you’d gotten assigned to Ron after you’d broken up,” he said, waiting for her to wince before continuing, “That - but ten times worse.” 

“Well, can you two be cordial?” 

“Undecided - I started laughing about it, and I think it made her mad,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair as he turned thoughtful. “I didn’t mean anything nasty about it - it’s a stupid, silly situation.” 

  
“But when the last time you two talked, what were those circumstances?” she pointed out, waiting for him to wince to catch on. “Cut her some slack - no matter how things are right now, those feelings and words from your last conversation carry into these first few conversations.” 

“I didn’t think of that,” Fred said, pulling a face before turning to her thoughtfully, “How’d you manage a clean break with Ron?” 

Hermione mulled it over, moving back to the table with the fresh tea, “It was mutual, which helped. We decided together that things were over, and had a good run of it, but pushing for it any more would only ruin what we already had. Cut our losses, so to speak.” 

“After Ange, I gave up on the whole dating thing,” Fred admitted, shrugging as she turned to him in surprise. The Weasleys were a charming, flirty bunch, for the most part at least, something that she assumed Bill and Charlie had been keen to pass down where they could before they each settled down - Bill with Fleur, and Charlie with his dragons. “I’d gone on a few dates after the breakup before realizing that it wasn’t for me - casual dating left a bad taste in my mouth.” 

“Should’ve found better kissers,” Hermione mumbled, dodging the spray of black tea with orange and cranberry as Fred choked on it, laughing as he coughed and pounded his chest before turning to stare at her with wide eyes. “Honestly! Every time I do something remotely funny, you act as though I’ve resurrected Merlin himself - I’ve managed to get a laugh or two in my time, thank you.” 

“I’ve just never been aware of how funny you can be,” he chuckled, siphoning the tea off of himself and her table with a wave of his wand. “My mistake - consider the oversight corrected.” 

Hermione chuckled herself, nursing her mug as she leaned back in her chair, “No, I get what you mean - after Ron and I broke up, I dove headfirst into work and was determined that dating would only be a distraction. I’ve gone on one or two dates with a few blokes, but they never worked out - which only proved my theory.” 

“Now look at us - getting married, and didn’t even have to put in the work,” Fred tutted, sipping carefully at his drink as though he were frightened she would cause him to spew it everywhere once again. 

“I’m so glad to never have to sit through an awkward first date again,” Hermione groaned, “They were all so dull.” 

“Should’ve found better dates,” Fred quipped, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “No, I get it - nobody ever…’ _fit_ ,’ I guess.” 

“Suppose that’s why we’re here in the situation we’re in,” she offered. Fred hummed in agreement, and they sat in silence while they mulled over their particular situation, the quiet blanketing around them while they each sailed along the seas of their inner thoughts. 

Hermione regarded Fred in the stillness, glancing at him over the rim of her mug as she took a drink. The twins weren’t known to be still for very long, and it was rather like coming to a sudden stop - jarring, unnerving, a little out of place. But she looked to him now, and he didn’t seem out of place at her dining table, as he had weeks ago. No, now, Fred seemed right where he needed to be. 

His hair was longer, shaggier than she’d seen it since the war, and it was attempting to take on some semblance of waves around his brow and jaw, as though he were trying to hide how both ears still remained, his hair still that warm toned ginger that all of his kin sported. His nose sloped and angled, giving a striking profile that was only aided by a grin when it lighted upon his face. Whatever skin was visible was freckled, from the clusters gathered on his cheeks to the callused skin of his hands. 

Here, Hermione couldn’t remember what color his eyes were, knowing that there was a possibility of brown or blue, but she wasn’t sure which it was. 

“I hadn’t realized what time it was,” Fred remarked with a start, checking his watch with a grimace before darting his gaze to look at her. 

Brown. 

“I’ve got to stop keeping you up so late,” he said, draining his mug and rising to send it to the sink, a sponge already preparing for its task. 

“I don’t mind,” Hermione answered with a laugh, sending her mug to the sink for the same treatment. 

“You’ll be changing that tune when you’re stuck - trapped, everyday, in the same flat as me,” he challenged, although the severity of it was marred with a grin. “See you tomorrow?” 

“See you tomorrow - thanks, Fred,” she said, smiling when he paused and looked at her bewilderedly. He had no idea how swiftly he’d turned around her mood, and she wasn’t eager to retouch on the subject that had gotten her so down in the first place now that he was leaving. “I’d still be stuck on the floor if you hadn’t shown up,” she said, and he laughed. 

“A perilous fate - happy to help, Hermione,” he said, bidding her goodnight and ducking out of the flat. 

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her eye and looked at the clock. It was past midnight - dangerously close to one, actually. She moved to her bedroom, snagging the cardigan from the back of the chair and moving to put it away. 

Sunday was days away, and whatever was going to happen would just have to happen - now, she was at least a little sure that she could withstand it. 

She had a family in the Weasleys, and that wasn’t to be taken lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, so sorry this chapter wasn't as...filling? as I would have liked it to be - it seemed words escaped me for this one, so I hope it suffices into next time. 
> 
> As an aside, it may be a few weeks or so until I update again, as I have a numerous amount of expectations and tasks ahead of me.   
> Or I could update tomorrow.   
> It could honestly go either way. 
> 
> In the meantime, stay safe, stay healthy, and I love you all so much. You bring endless joy to my life, and I'm happy that you're here.
> 
> XOXO


	8. Closed Hand, Full of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea at the Grangers.  
> Dinner at the Weasleys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In the recitations of the parish poets/ In the buildings, in the burrows, in the locked boats/ I will find my means to an end/ With an open heart in hold and a closed hand, full of friends..." - Foy Vance, "Closed Hand, Full of Friends"

If you’d asked her, before the war, if she had thought there would ever be a time where she was dreading seeing her parents, Hermione would’ve laughed. 

They’d had a great relationship when she was growing up, as she was their only child and they appreciated her sharp mind at a young age. She’d ask inquisitive questions and receive lengthy answers, which in turn encouraged her to ask more. She knew that before Hogwarts and magic had been a possibility, her parents were dreaming of her going off to university and making high marks. 

Once she’d started Hogwarts and it became evident that she was keen on making a name and a place for herself in the wizarding world, they quieted their remarks on universities and test scores. 

Even holidays were spent avoiding talk of magic and witchcraft - they’d inquire after her studies, her friends, but would always skirt around the topic. The wizarding world had always made them nervous, and for a while Hermione could understand. It was new, it was different, it was unlike anything they’d ever thought possible. She’d thought that they’d grow into it alongside her. 

They’d been doing well, actually, until the war happened. 

Now, they were more skeptical and untrusting as they’d ever been. 

“Thanks for being on time,” Hermione said, walking down the small street and towards her parents’ house. It wasn’t her childhood home, as she’d sold it once the Auror’s had confirmed that it wasn’t a safe location, but it was in the same village and they’d reopened their dental practice. 

“Of course,” Fred responded lightly, although his attention was diverted by the different makes and models of cars, or the various decorations each neighbor had in their front yard. He made to prod a pinwheel, but snapped his hand back and pocketed it when he saw the owner glaring at him from her garage. “You doing alright?” he asked instead, casting her a long glance that told her she wasn’t fooling anyone. 

“I’m fine,” she said, but the tremor in her voice gave way her nerves. She cleared her throat, and trodded on. 

It felt wrong, walking up to her parents’ doorstep and feeling her hands shake, her heart rattling around in her chest like a small bird flitting around in a much too large birdcage. She lifted a fist to knock against the dark oak door, when Fred’s hand darted out and clutched it, lowering it and moving to press their hands palm to palm while his free hand tapped out a rhythm against the door. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as they waited, receiving a fond smile before the door opened. 

Once upon a time, when she was much younger, her parents’ friends and older relatives would always remark that Hermione had looked like her mother. She’d taken the comparison with pride, but she’d had the completely unbiased opinion that her mother was the most gorgeous woman on the planet. As she’d gotten older, and features had taken proper form, she’d lamented her large front teeth and unruly hair, both for the relentless bullying she’d endured and the marked differences from her mother. 

Her mother was slender and petite, her perfect caramel colored curls cut short and framing her angular face, her gaze darting from Hermione, to Fred, and then back to Hermione. 

“Welcome,” she said, with a polite coldness that was normally reserved for unwanted dental clients. “Please, come in.” 

“Thank you!” Fred said brightly, gently tugging Hermione across the threshold, his hand relinquishing hers and instead propelling her forward with a hand on the small of her back. “My, you have a lovely home.” 

“Thank you,” Helena nodded, twisting on her heel and towards the sitting room. “Tea’s getting cold.” 

Fred paused, watching her walk down the hallway, and spared a glance to Hermione. She pressed her lips together, inhaled deeply, and then marched along behind her mother, feeling Fred follow. 

Hermione’s father had always seemed like the kind of man who could be hunched over a book and muttering about its contents - she’d learned to read, perched on his knee and sounding out William Shakespeare with vowels and consonants sitting clumsily on her tongue. He had eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and he’d had to get glasses at some time while in Australia. It made him look older, looking more and more like her grandfather whenever she saw him. 

“Hermione,” her father said, smiling tersely with his hands clasped in front of him, already seated on a loveseat that her mother was quick to join. 

“This is Fred Weasley,” Hermione said, patting the twin’s arm as he smiled courteously. She glanced at him oddly, and he spared her a wide eye stare - he didn’t know how to properly navigate these tense waters, she realized with a start. Once the two sat across from her parents, she realized that she didn’t either. 

“One of Ronald’s brothers, correct?” Helena asked with a tight smile. 

  
“Yes - my twin, George, and I are two years older than Ron,” Fred answered politely. 

“Forgive us, but could you remind us what it is that you do?” Adam Granger asked, sipping at his tea as though it would fortify him. 

“George and I run a business on Diagon Alley,” he answered before smiling brightly, “I don’t mind if you can’t remember, with as many siblings as I have it’s often hard to keep track of all of us.” 

Helena and Adam both smiled, and Hermione felt a little of the pressure around her let go, relaxing just a fraction into the armchair and trying to remember how breathing normally went. 

“And, forgive me, but you two...work with...teeth?” Fred asked haltingly, glancing between the parents and Hermione for clarification. 

“Yes, we’re called dentists,” Helena said, her mouth tightening just a little, and the pressure found its way home at the middle of Hermione’s spine and the breath hitched along its way. “I forgot that...wizards...don’t need dentists.” 

“They have Healers, which is a bit of a catch all,” Hermione offered lamely, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt before anxiously smoothing it out. Fred glanced to her then returned the brilliant smile to his face. 

“Personally, it sounds like a brave profession - dentisting,” Fred remarked, continuing casually as both Adam and Helena blinked at him in confusion. “Sticking your hands in peoples’ dirty mouths, the potential biters - couldn’t see me managing it, honestly.” 

Adam managed a chuckle, and the crinkle around his eyes briefly returned, “They do get you some days, the little ones. They’ve sharp teeth, too.” 

“Ghastly,” Fred grinned. 

Helena, however, was unamused, and rubbed her hand across her forehead. She always did that when she was annoyed, or tired. As it was the afternoon, Hermione doubted she was tired. “You mentioned needing to speak with us about something that couldn’t be mentioned over the phone?” 

Adam’s eye crinkles disappeared, and a very grim look overtook his face. 

“Well,” Hermione said, exhaling sharply, and looking to Fred for courage. He nodded her along, and she sighed. “There’s a new sort of...law passed in the Ministry.” 

She saw the panic flit across her parents’ faces, and before she could feel anything about it, Fred managed to jump in. 

“There’s a situation concerning birth rates in the...community, so they’ve assigned us mandated partners to sort it out,” he said, briefly grimacing at his word choice. 

“They’ve assigned Fred and I to get married, before the end of the year,” Hermione finished, feeling the need to take a deep breath and hold it, like she saw a wave rushing towards her and needed to catch her breath before she went under. 

Adam seemed at a loss, his gaze flicking between the two of them, and Helena seemed to stir the situation over. “Do you...do you two have much choice?” 

“Well, if we refuse…” Fred began, looking to Hermione again. “The consequences aren’t ideal.” 

“What are the consequences?” Helena asked quietly. 

Hermione exhaled, needing the air to speak, “A prison stay, for starters, as well as breaking our wands and casting us out of society.” 

“Wizarding society, you mean?” Helena asked sharply, her voice gaining volume very suddenly. 

Hermione tensed, and wished she’d taken the breath again. “Yes, wizarding society,” she answered, her throat closing up. 

“Well, the prison stay is less than ideal, but everything else - ”

“Helena,” Adam chided quietly, while Hermione couldn’t believe her ears.

“You were thinking it, Adam, and besides - I’ve had enough of magic and elves and whatever nonsense we’ve put up with - ”

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I really don’t think that - ” Fred tried, sitting on the edge of his seat, casting nervous glances to Hermione’s face. She felt like she was sitting on the sidelines, her limbs and face numb. The wave had crested and crashed over her, and she was drifting underwater without a breath to spare. 

“Fred, you seem nice, but this isn’t really your place, and besides - we have a chance at getting our daughter back - ” 

“ _Helena._ ”

“ - and putting this whole mess behind us, once and for all. Back to _normal._ ” 

“Really?” Hermione asked, sharply, startling the three of them into looking at her. “Getting your daughter _back?_ After a prison stay at the worst institution imaginable, with life-sucking creatures, and getting cast out of the only place I’ve ever made for myself? That’s your ideal version of your daughter?” 

Helena regarded her head on, her chin jutting forward and eyes flashing dangerously, “One without a wand. Yes.” 

Hermione stood abruptly, hating the way her parents flinched instinctually, and began. “I have given you time, and plenty of it. I have given you space, and resources - I offered everything that I could offer. Therapy, medical procedures - I even asked you if you wanted to forget about me all over again!”

“We would never choose that, Hermione, of course not, it’s just - ” Adam tried. 

“When you’ve been through what we’ve been through - ” Helena stated hotly. 

“What _you’ve_ been through,” Hermione scoffed, hands on her hips as she rolled her eyes, “No concern about what _I’ve_ been through, no - because, clearly, I just swiped any trace of myself from my parents’ memories and lives for the hell of it.”

“Granger,” Fred said, softly, and Hermione realized that she was shaking like a leaf from head to toe. He stood slowly, carefully, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder as she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the trembling ceasing if only for a moment. 

“If you want to sit there and hate me, fine - I won’t even put up a fuss. But I’m not going to let you take it out on people that have had nothing to do with my mistakes.” She took one long, final look at Mr. and Mrs. Granger. The people who’d tucked her into bed, wiped her tears away, read countless stories and sang to her on her birthdays. She looked at the people upon the couch, and didn’t recognize them anymore. “The wedding’s November 30th, if you bother.” 

And with that, she turned on her heel, marched out the dark oak front door, and allowed Fred to slam it shut. 

Before he could turn and offer any words of a comforting or congratulatory nature, Hermione found the waterworks dripping down her face unbidden. It felt like a chord had been cut, one that had been holding her all together, and now she was falling to pieces with no way to ground herself. 

Fred, to his credit, gripped her arms, pressed her into his chest, and popped them away. Once they’d landed, he continued to hold her tight, one hand pressing against the back of her head as she sobbed into his jumper. 

It was indescribable, really. The amount of pain she was in contesting against the freedom she felt. She hadn’t cried like this since the war, and even then it was different. It was appropriate - wars and funerals were appropriate places and times and situations to cry. This was just a regular Sunday, and she’d just had a row with her parents and probably managed irreparable damage to their relationship, but there were better reasons to cry. Yet, she could not stop - with every breath she took, it drew another sob up and out of the chasm in her chest, the gaping wound in her heart that refused to mend. 

Once she’d wound down a bit, turning the sobs into hiccups and sniffles, did Fred pull back, a lofty expression upon his face as he carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks. 

“November 30th, huh?” he asked lightly, pausing to allow her brain ample time to catch up before he grinned back at her. 

“I’m sorry - I just picked a day,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Fred tutted, taking the sleeve of his jumper and swiping more tears away, as they still continued. “I’ll clear my calendar.” 

He smiled when she huffed a begrudging laugh, pulling away to guide her through a familiar field, a gnome-filled garden, and into a warm and welcoming kitchen. “Mum!” he bellowed, pulling out a kitchen chair with the toe of his shoe and shuffling Hermione into it. “You’ve got tears to dry!” 

Hermione was ready to fuss, to chide him for dumping her problems onto his poor mother, when she heard footsteps overhead and Molly’s answering call. 

“Put the kettle on!” she shouted, and Fred’s presence was whisked away to the stove. 

Hermione had just managed to swipe a majority of the tears away when Molly rounded the corner, passed Victoire off to Fred, and gathered Hermione up and into her own hug. The tears returned at full force, and she settled into the other woman’s shoulder, pressing her face against the layers of soft knitted wool and feeling something shatter all over again. 

“There, there,” Molly cooed, rocking her back and forth slightly, patting her hair as Hermione sobbed into her. “Cry as much as you need to - we’ve got you, dear.” 

And they did. When Hermione’s tears ran dry, she’d recounted everything to Mrs. Weasley before the tears returned. Fred had pressed a mug into her hand, and Molly had tutted and listened while bouncing Victoire on her knee. As dinner time drew closer, she and Molly prepared dinner while talking still, Fred distracting his niece at the kitchen table. 

Once more Weasleys arrived and saw Hermione’s tear tracked face, Fred had taken over and recounted their visit to the Grangers himself, adding in more and more fantastical ideas that Hermione had to correct. By the time Harry, Ginny and Teddy had arrived, Hermione was mostly alright. 

They’d gotten through dinner fine, each of the family having their own say on the situation, although Percy stayed resolutely silent and only offered his support when it became too strange for him to say nothing. Oliver, who’d been given a standing invitation to Weasley dinners, had given her a sad little smile, and she didn’t take Percy’s silence to heart. 

Bill and Fleur had offered their condolences, and a place for tea should she ever need to talk, which she appreciated. 

George had inquired as to her feelings on her parents’ being the receiving end of some Muggle pranks that the twins had been dying to test, but she’d insisted that she wasn’t about to approach or interact her parents again unless it was their doing. 

Ron had simply shrugged off the encounter, remarking that it was ‘bloody unfair,’ and Lavender had rolled her eyes and shot her a look that insisted she’d prod some sense into him within the next few days.

Ginny had sat beside her at dinner, and gripped her hand tightly under the table. 

When it came time for everyone to disperse, Ginny and Teddy had stepped through the Floo first, leaving Hermione and Harry alone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Hermione blinked at him. He shrugged lamely, looking at the collar of her shirt. “I feel I haven’t done a good job of being there for you when it comes to your parents.” 

Hermione softened, stepping into his chest and smiling when his arms came up and around her. “Don’t be - your involvement had nothing to do with how things went with me and my parents. This would’ve happened anyway, I think.” 

“Still,” he muffled into her hair, “I hate that I wasn’t there for you on this.” 

Hermione shifted, peering over his shoulder into the kitchen, where Fred was leaning against the entryway and chatting with Bill and George, Victoire on his hip as the three grinned and laughed at something. “I wasn’t alone,” she murmured, and felt Harry nod against her chin. 

“Come over to Grimmauld Place, before Ron’s wedding, and we’ll talk it out, alright?” he suggested as they pulled apart, and he didn’t relinquish his hold on her until she’d smiled and nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, smiled and waved, and stepped through the Floo. 

“Hermione,” Arthur said, smiling softly as she turned to regard him. She hadn’t known he’d been standing there, but she smiled upon seeing him. “Take a walk with this old man, would you?” 

“You’re hardly old, Mr. Weasley, but sure,” she said, following him out of the front door and winding around the house, through the garden, and out into the field where they kept going. 

They walked in silence for a while, regarding the sky changing its colors before them, when Mr. Weasley spoke again. 

“Words cannot describe how hurt I am for you,” he said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the hem of his jumper. 

Hermione sighed heavily, staring up at the sky as it changed from a pale orange to a fiery red. “Thank you, I suppose,” she said. 

“It’s never easy, family,” he said, shrugging as he replaced his glasses and stared up alongside her, placing his hands in his pockets. “Nobody can ever hurt you quite like your own blood can, it seems.” 

Hermione glanced to him, remembering Percy’s silence at the dinner table, and Oliver’s well-meaning smile. “Percy was just confused, back then,” she assured him, and was rewarded with Arthur’s fond smile. 

“I know,” he said, “Just as your parents are now. I hope that, in time, they receive some clarity on the matter.” 

She hummed, hearing the wind pick up before she felt it, carding through her hair like it was brushing it back from her face. “Maybe,” she remarked, although she wasn’t really sure. They hadn’t been her parents in quite some time, and she’d chalked it up to their need to heal. Maybe they would never really heal, as long as she was around, and that was alright. For now, Hermione needed to forgive herself, and that was more important than the guilty eggshells she endured so often for them. 

“Just know that whatever happens, you’ve always got the Weasleys,” he assured with another grin, reminiscent in some way of each of his children. “Whether you want them or not.” 

Hermione laughed, grinning back at him. “I know - Fred warned me.” 

Arthur’s eye gained a sparkle, and she didn’t have much time to ponder it before he spoke again, “Ah, that son of mine. Giving away all our best secrets.” 

“You’ve practically adopted Harry and I, and I see you and Mrs. Weasley are already working on Oliver and Angelina,” she argued, although it was mostly to see Mr. Weasley laugh. 

“I didn’t say they were our best _kept_ secrets, did I?” he chuckled, turning back towards the Burrow and offering his arm. “Come along - it’s starting to get chilly.” 

She took his arm, walking slowly through the field as night fell around them, regarding the emerging stars and pointing out the constellations to one another. 

When they reentered through the back door, into the golden kitchen that smelled of Earl Grey and the lingering hint of a warm and flaky pastry, only Molly and Fred remained seated at the table, the rest having gone off to their own homes and little families. 

When they entered, Fred lifted his head, glanced Hermione over, and then smiled warmly at the two of them arm in arm. Whatever they’d been discussing was now off the table, as Molly stood to usher the two of them to a seat and begged them to try a new recipe that Fleur had brought her. Arthur had stood to help her prepare the plates and the tea, while Hermione sat down beside Fred. 

“Alright?” he asked lightly, knocking his elbow into her arm and watching her carefully. 

She smiled and nodded, knocking her elbow against his, and they shared a grin.


	9. Night Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change. 
> 
> Sometimes, that's for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to stop writing while I listen to my lecture videos, because I wind up associating Old English and Grimms' Law and even Shakespeare with this fic. Not saying it's a bad thing, but it's a weird associating that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to take a moment and thank you all so much on the comments from last chapter - you were all so lovely, and they made my day every time I got the chance to read them. I hope I did this chapter justice, as it's very long and has some very nice moments. (Or, at least, I think it does.)
> 
> I may not update next week, as life things will be happening, but I'll see you all soon. <3
> 
> "She's fallin', doesn't even know it yet/ Havin' no regrets is all that she really wants..." - One Direction, "Night Changes"

It’d been a few days since Hermione had last seen or heard from her parents, and she’d like to think that she was handling it very well. 

Well, as well as she could be handling it, she supposed, which had to count for something. 

Fred and George had gently suggested that she take a few days off from the shop to deal with things properly, and she’d taken their advice and returned to her flat. 

...Which was currently in shambles, which possibly said something about her mental state, but she wasn’t making connections unless absolutely necessary. 

After she’d been sent home, she’d begun to clean things the Muggle way, even scrubbing the baseboards. Eventually, that had led to going through her closet, which had ultimately led to her getting a headstart on packing in preparation for her move coming up in a few weeks. So, even though she’d attempted to go room by room in a nice, orderly and organized manner, bits and pieces were boxed and put away with no rhyme or reason. She’d discovered the night previous that she’d accidentally boxed up her hairbrush, had to go through several boxes before discovering it, and then had to re-sort through her mess. 

So, when Fred stopped by to check on her, she could understand his worried and wide-eyed stare. 

“I’m working on it,” she said before he could say anything, as he’d gotten a clear view of - well, everything - since he towered over her. “It’s a work in progress. You can’t judge progress.” 

“Right,” he said, slowly, combing a hand through his hair before nodding and shedding his suit jacket. “Where do you need me?” 

Hermione had made a flippant hand gesture, and he rolled up his sleeves and got right to it, sorting through her dismal record collection while she organized her books to be boxed by genre and subgenre. She’d had it by authors on her shelves, and realized that she’d grown tired of it. 

When Ginny had dropped off Teddy, she’d only looked at the pair, grimaced, and shouted that dinner would be on the table at Grimmauld place whenever she got done with practice that evening. It was less of an invitation and more of a summons, which Hermione recognized with a mental sigh. 

“What’re you doing?” Teddy asked, throwing himself into Hermione and knocking her onto her bum, as she’d been balancing on her toes to greet him. 

“We’re packing,” she explained, and smiled at his confused frown - his lip jutted out ever so slightly, and his little brow furrowed. It was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and she loved it even more because it meant that he wanted to learn. “We’re putting my things into boxes, to move them easier.” 

“Why?” he questioned. 

“Because I’m not going to live in this flat anymore,” she answered, blinking when he gasped and his hair turned to a vibrant, startling shade of chartreuse. 

“No! You can’t leave me!” Teddy argued, his lip quivering and his eyes watering up as she took his little face in her hands and covered it in kisses. “I miss you!”

“I’m doing no such thing - I’d never, ever leave you, not if I could help it,” Hermione said, gathering him up in her arms and rubbing their noses together. “I’m just changing where I live, that’s all. I’ll still be around, love.” 

“Promise?” Teddy asked, muffled into her jumper, and she grabbed the fabric at her shoulder to wipe his little tears. 

“I promise,” she swore, pressing another kiss to his nose. 

“You two are about to make me blubber,” Fred remarked, grinning down at the two of them as he leaned against the bookshelf she’d been working on. Because he’d been so silent, Teddy hadn’t noticed him when he’d arrived, and so gasped and wrestled out of Hermione’s arms, around the stacks of books, and launched himself at his uncle. 

“Uncle Fred!” he shouted, giggling when he was hoisted into the air, all signs of sadness and tears gone. “You’re here!”

“I am!” Fred agreed, swinging him around and propping him on a hip expertly. Hermione grinned as she stood, as the twins were always excellent with children no matter the ages involved. That was a possibility of growing up in a large family - you were prepared. “And so are you!” 

“Are you going to take Aunty’s flat?” Teddy asked, a very serious look crossing his face. Hermione’s name, difficult for even adults to say, had caused some issues when it came to what Teddy and any subsequent children could call her. Harry was just Harry, occasionally “Uncle Harry,” and Ginny was just Ginny. The other Weasleys were all Uncle or Aunt, but Hermione’s name was still a hurdle that he’d yet to pass over. So, for the sake of being called something, Hermione was given the ceremonious title of “Aunty.” 

And she adored it. 

“No - actually,” Fred glanced quickly to Hermione before deciding upon his course of action anyway. “Your Aunty is moving in with me.” 

Teddy’s brow furrowed as he attempted to process the words together, but in his limited scope of experiences, he couldn’t piece it together. 

“I’m going to be living with Uncle Fred, from now on,” she explained. 

His brow deepened, and Hermione fought a laugh. He looked like he was attempting to solve a difficult equation, which was such a funny expression for a toddler to have. 

“Does that mean, when I come stay with you, I live with Uncle Fred too?” Teddy asked. 

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Hermione answered. 

“ _ Wicked!” _ Teddy hollered, the redhead snorting before bursting into laughter at the tiny outcry of his favored phrase. Hermione gaped - when had he learned that one? “Do we get to live above the shop? Can we test toys and prank people? Is Uncle George going to be there? Can I stay with Uncle George?” 

“Yes, you’ll be above the shop - yes, you can test things if your Aunty says its alright - no, George will not be living there, but he will visit often,” Fred answered, setting him down gently only to smother a laugh with his hand as the little boy bounced around his shins. 

“Can I have my own room? Can I put up pictures of Harry and Ginny and Gamma and Granny and Poppy and Uncle George and Uncle Charlie and - ”

“Oy,” Fred halted, his hands on his hips as he stared down at the excitable boy with a frown, “Why do I not get my picture put up?” 

Teddy halted too, setting his hands on his hips and craning his neck to look up at Fred to state importantly, “If I’m living with you, then I won’t need your picture up.” 

Fred’s mouth dropped open and Hermione tipped her head back to roar with laughter, collapsing on her side to giggle at the situation unfolding before her. Fred snorted, trying to hold the laughter in and pretending to be very cross with the little boy, whose hair had shifted from chartreuse to a pale ginger, and who still had his little hands bunched into fists on his hips. 

“And that’s your doing, I suspect,” Fred accused, pointing a finger at Hermione as she caught her breath, “All of that - that  _ logic  _ and  _ reasoning. _ ”

Hermione propped up on her elbow, arching a brow up at the accusator, “I rather think that’s a bit of Remus’s genes, not to mention Tonks’ as well.” 

“The offspring of a mastermind prankster and the rebellious punk Auror? No - you’ve sullied the poor boy. Making him  _ intelligent. _ ” 

“He’s done that all on his own, thank you,” Hermione sniffed primly, sitting up and resuming her task idly. “Teddy, if you’d like to help, could you sort through your toys and pick out the ones you rather don’t like as much anymore?” 

“What will we do with them?” he asked. 

“Well, we can take some to the Burrow, or send some to Harry’s, or to your Gram’s, or - only if you really want to - we can give them to some other children that might appreciate them more,” she explained carefully. “I’ll let you decide which toy goes where, alright?” 

“Alright!” he hollered, but he was already stampeding down the hall to the small closet where his toys were kept. 

“Huh,” Fred remarked, watching Teddy get to work, looking thoughtful before he turned back to Hermione. He smiled, said nothing, and returned to his own task in silence, leaving Hermione to wonder. 

She pushed the puzzlement aside, and got lost in deciding which books belonged to which genre and subgenre. 

She busied herself with that for quite a while, pausing occasionally to listen to what Teddy was doing and smiling whenever she heard him speak to himself and reason why this toy deserved to go to Andromeda’s, or the Burrow, or back to Harry’s or why another child might really like it. Before she knew it, she was sitting in the floor with her back against her couch, staring thoughtfully at her neat stacks of books and wondering if maybe sorting them by authors was actually the most logical choice. 

Quietly, Fred sat down in the floor beside her, his knee arched and offering his arm a place to prop, and when she turned to look at him he only had a calculating look in his eye that quickly vanished and replaced itself with a grin. 

“All done?” he asked, grinning wider when she sighed. 

“I’m thinking of redoing it, actually,” she explained, bumping his shoulder when he snorted. “Hush - I’ve got time. I’m not done here until after Ron’s wedding.” 

“You do know Ron’s wedding is this weekend, correct?” Fred asked, chuckling when she grimaced. The idea had, honestly, slipped her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, of course, it was just that she’d had so many other things pop up and occupy space in her brain. She was sure that Ron would understand, and had an inkling that if Lavender wouldn’t remind him he might forget to arrive to his own wedding. 

It was nothing against Ron, of course - she was mostly joking anyway. It was just that Ron didn’t really care about the orderly and proper side of things - he cared about family, friends and food. If that was the correct order or not, she’d rather not know. His wedding would include plenty of each, so he was obviously more than likely to attend. If it was at the appropriate time would be another matter, but that was neither here nor there. He really needed to get his watch fixed. 

When Hermione looked to Fred once more, she could practically see the gears whirring in his minds’ eye. He was thinking through something intensely, his whole body angled towards her as he stared her down. A shiver ran down her spine at his gaze, and she reminded herself that maybe he was just staring at her unseeingly. She’d done it plenty of times to Percy when they’d worked together, and he’d begged her to stare at a wall instead of his face - he’d argued that it was haunting, and made him feel like he was under scrutiny. 

Well, she could rather understand that now. She felt her face flush under the stare, the heat tracking across her cheeks and nose, and she narrowed her gaze at him. “Can I help you?” she asked, holding back an irritated huff. If there was something on her face, then he could just say so. 

He carefully raised a hand, leaning further towards her as he stared her down, “I’m testing something.” 

She blinked, arching slowly away from him, but she wound up hitting the back of the couch. “And what, pray tell, are you testing?” 

“Less testing, more getting something out of the way.” 

She opened her mouth to argue further, when he halted inches from her face and glanced to her mouth. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh no.

Her mouth shut, and if she’d thought her face was flushed earlier, then now it was surely aflame. 

“It’d just be awkward - at the wedding,” he explained, his gaze back to her eyes, the corners of his own mouth itching to hike up into a grin. “You know - ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride’ - do you really want our first kiss in front of my  _ family _ ?”

Her nose wrinkled, as she hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t thought of kissing Fred at all, actually, but now…. 

Oh, what the hell? Might as well. 

“Not particularly,” she answered, nodding resolutely, despite her whole body tensing. Why was she tensed? It was just Fred. It was just a kiss. She’d kissed people before - not recently, anyway, but she had. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, relax, would you?” Fred snorted, actively fighting the grin. 

“Oh, bite me,” she snapped before clenching her jaw, his brows shooting up and the grin popping out as her face, no doubt, became engulfed in heat. “Shut it - ”

“Well, which is it?” 

“Oh, would you - “

Fred took advantage of her momentary distraction, carefully placing his lips against hers before pausing, then pressing firmly, his free hand guiding her head further into his. 

It was...nice. As far as pressing lips together, it was alright. Careful, if she had to pick a word. Not unpleasant. He smelled good, at least. 

Fred pulled away after a second or two, and they paused for a moment to each deliberate their findings. He was still a breath away, his hand still practically cradling her head, and so she shrugged and kissed him again, leaning into him now as he started in surprise before huffing a laugh against her. 

Again, not bad. Maybe the angle and their position in the floor was a bit awkward, but still. Tolerable. She could see herself doing this again.

When they pulled away once more, they gave each other space, and where one might think that they’d avoid eye contact, it was actually quite the opposite. Fred was giving her that calculating look again, and she was trying to decide what he was thinking before taking a moment to gather her own thoughts. 

It was a pleasant kiss, nice and sweet - a good first kiss as far as first kisses go. No terribly awkward angles, no embarrassing fiascos - a normal kiss. 

But, also - no fanfare, or fireworks, or sparks flying. 

Her heart was racing a little, even now, which was interesting. 

“Well,” Fred said suddenly, and it was now that eye contact seemed difficult to manage, “Got that out of the way, then.” 

Luckily, as if he could sense an awkward moment arising, Teddy barreled into the living room and soared through the air. In a split second, Fred had caught him, a panicked look on his face as his main goal became keeping the tiny boy from smashing his head against the coffee table. In an instant, the flurry of motion was over, and Teddy was none the wiser that he’d done anything particularly harrowing. 

“I’m done!” Teddy hollered, a beaming grin on his face as Fred tried to mask his abject terror. 

Amateur. 

In the three years of being his godmother, Teddy had given Hermione plenty of scares. At first it was alarming, and she’d felt herself trying to stop accidents before they happened, but by now she was at ease. Teddy was a little boy, who was bound to start showing signs of magic any day now, and accidents were going to happen. She just needed to keep a level head when they did. 

“Are you now?” Hermione asked, grinning as he wiggled out of Fred’s grip and into her lap, giving the ginger time to shakily place his face in his hands and gather himself. “Let’s go take a look,” she said, standing and placing him on his feet, shooting Fred a grin as she made to follow her godson. 

Teddy proudly showed off his separate piles, and Hermione was proud to see that he’d set some aside for donation. She frowned when she perused the pile, blinking at him in bewilderment. 

“Teddy, did you mean to give this away?” she asked, pulling out a well-loved stuffed bear. One of the older Weasleys, maybe Bill, had given it to him when he was very young. For a period, he’d carried it with him everywhere. 

“Yes,” Teddy answered, his hair swimming to an aquamarine as he looked up at her. 

“Are you sure?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

She gauged his reaction and shrugged, setting it back into the pile and sending it to a box, “You do know that once you give it away, you can’t ask for it back, right?” 

“Right,” he nodded, “Because it’s gonna go to another kid, who’s gonna love it as much as I do.” 

Hermione softened, grinning down at him before bending and pressing a kiss to his forehead, laughing when she pulled away and he beamed up at her. “And where are these other piles going to? Let’s get them ready,” she said, sitting in the floor and putting each pile in more boxes, listening to Teddy’s reasoning behind his decisions. 

As Teddy began to help put the toys away, she turned to see where Fred had gotten off to. She found him leaning against the back of the couch, his arms folded over his chest, and watching them carefully. When he caught her looking his way, he grinned, and Hermione found herself smiling back at him. 

It was going to be weird, and awkward, and downright uncomfortable sometimes, but the least they could do was laugh it off. 

Teddy thrust a forlorn dog with an unstuffed leg into her chest and begged her to fix it, and Hermione’s attention was diverted once more. 

Once the emergency surgery had been performed against the toy, she found Fred boxing up her books. He no doubt had seen her collection and decided it to be a better use of time sorting it out after the move, rather than sorting it before. 

When it came time to get Teddy (and some of his toys) back to Grimmauld place, Fred had had to depart as well. 

“Are you coming to dinner?” Teddy asked, clutching onto his leg as Hermione gathered everything she intended to bring with her. 

“No, I need to go check on your Uncle George,” Fred answered. “He’s having to pack up his things, too.” 

“Where is Uncle George going?” Teddy asked. 

“Uhhh,” Fred responded, wincing back at Hermione as she tried to hide her laughter. “He’s moving in with Angelina. Do you remember Angelina?” 

Teddy stared blankly at him, and said nothing. 

“She’s the pretty lady who came to dinner, and plays Quidditch with Ginny,” Hermione supplied. 

“Oh!” Teddy said, although Hermione wasn’t entirely sure that he’d made the connection just yet. “Can I go visit Uncle George and Ann-gel-ee-na, and she can tell me about Quidditch?” 

“We’ll have to ask, but I don’t see why not,” Fred said with a shrug before realizing something, “Where’d your jumper go?” Teddy shrugged, and he huffed a laugh. “Could you go find it, please?” 

“Okay!” Teddy shouted before tearing through the flat at as high a speed as his little legs could carry him. 

“He wasn’t wearing a jumper when he came over,” Hermione pointed out, rolling her eyes at Fred’s cheeky grin. “Congratulations - you outsmarted a three year old.” 

“Eventually, he’ll be too smart to catch on,” he said with a sigh before turning to look at her seriously, a worried frown marring his face. “I hope I didn’t make things awkward, earlier….”

Hermione snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight onto one leg, “Don’t worry about it, I agreed to it, didn’t I?” She shrugged, “Besides, things are going to be weird between us for a while. I’d take you over some stranger any day.” 

“I’m touched,” he grinned, placing a hand over his heart as though she’d wooed him, “But no, I get it. That’s why I wanted to get the awkward out of the way now.” 

“Smart,” she said with a smile. “Well, if I show up late to dinner, Ginny’s going to hunt me down and corner me here.” 

“And George is probably going round the bend by now, so best to go pull him out of the spiral,” Fred nodded, heading towards the door. “Goodbye, Teddy!”

“Bye, Uncle Fred!” Teddy shouted, muffled by distance. Hermione worried - where could he have gotten to in the span of her quick conversation? 

“Bye, Granger,” Fred said, halfway out the door before he halted, and turned thoughtfully back to her. That calculating look was back again, but it was quickly replaced with a grin. “You know, you’re not a bad kisser.” 

Hermione gaped, at a loss for what to say, but then the door was shut and his laugh was on the other side of it. She scoffed, shaking her head at his antics, and went to go find Teddy. Somehow, the little boy had practically buried himself in her closet, and was giggling when she’d had to crawl in to grab him. 

When they’d stepped through the Floo to Grimmauld place, Teddy had rushed to go and put his toys away, and Hermione had nearly ran to the kitchen to investigate what was causing the thick smoke to come pouring out. 

She’d found the culprit, standing at the stove and waving a lid futilely, his glasses askew and hair wayward. 

“Honestly, Harry, are you a wizard or not?” Hermione asked, flicking her wand and siphoning the smoke out of the air. 

“I panicked,” Harry argued, although he took to poking the pan with a spatula with an air that said that this sort of thing happened all the time. “It’s edible, anyway.” 

“We can order take out,” Hermione said, turning to look over his shoulder. She frowned at the charred, dry lumps in the pan, “What was it supposed to be?” 

He winced, turning to look at her with a sheepish grin, “Coconut curry turkey.” 

“We’re ordering take out,” she declared, smiling when she heard his laugh as he began to clean up his mess, grabbing from the menus available from their spot on the fridge. 

It’d taken Harry a long while after the war for him to find his good humor again, and it was because of Teddy that he’d managed to do so as quickly as he had. He still had dark moments, but his little family did an excellent job of pulling him out of them. Ginny could poke and prod him out of his grumpy spells until he could talk about them with her, and Teddy was an eager distraction whenever needed. 

“I wanted to surprise Gin when she got back from practice, but I think a house fire was the wrong way to go about it,” he said with a laugh. 

“I did think you were here rather early,” Hermione said as she perused the menu for a Thai place. Curry did sound good. 

“Decided to take off a bit early tonight,” Harry said with a shrug, “Think Ron might’ve done the same, but Seamus and a few others were still hanging about down there, but work was done.” 

She hummed, passing a few menus to him before she hopped up on the kitchen counter. Did she want chicken or beef? “I’ve been packing, Teddy’s brought some toys to store here, at the Burrow and Andromeda’s.” 

“Great, he’s been running low,” he sassed, grinning at her glare. “How’d packing go?” 

“Alright,” she shrugged before pausing, lowering a menu. “Err...Fred helped me.” 

Harry blinked, lowering the menu carefully and looking at her over the rim of his glasses. “And...how’d that go?” 

Hermione bit her lip, and debated. Harry softened, and readjusted his glasses. 

“I won’t tell Gin,” he promised, and Hermione shot him a grateful smile. 

“He kissed me,” she said before regrouping while Harry looked at her in shock, “Or, I kissed him. We kissed.” 

“Uhh,” he said smartly, wincing at his eloquence. “And…?” 

“It was...alright,” she said lamely, wincing herself. “As far as a kiss goes, it was nice.” 

Harry stifled a laugh, grinning at her behind his hand, “You look like you’re in pain, so forgive me if I seem unsure.” 

Hermione huffed a laugh, rubbing her palms together, “It was just weird. I’d never thought of kissing Fred before. We wanted to get it out of the way before the wedding.” 

Harry nodded, seeing the logic in it even as he rubbed his chin in thought, “D’you wish it was...more?” 

At her lost look, Harry went on to explain, “I’m just...I always saw you marrying someone you were so, incredibly, over the moon in love with. Maybe it’s just because I wanted you to be as happy as you deserve, but...I dunno. I like Fred, but...there’s no sparks. And I don’t expect there to be, you two are still getting to know each other, I just...I wish you got fireworks.” 

Hermione faltered, chewing on the inside of her cheek before nodding slowly, “Me too.” They shared a long look, one that wished that things had turned out differently, at least for one of them. Then she shrugged, gave a ‘what can you do?’ smile, and returned back to the takeout menu. “I think I’m going to get the chicken,” she said, and Harry spoke no more of it. 

When Ginny arrived, it was to takeout boxes laid out on the table, and Harry and Hermione were arguing over which dish was which. Ginny had taken a bite out of each, swapped the boxes to their appropriate owners, and collapsed into a chair with a boneless quality while they finished up the dinner preparation. 

“I wanted to check on you, after everything,” Ginny said, waving around a fork full of flat noodles as she glanced over Hermione. 

“I’m alright,” Hermione answered, taking a bite of sticky rice before shrugging. “Well, as alright as I can be.” 

“Are we talking about things with your parents, or with the Marriage Law?” Harry asked, prodding a few steamed vegetables onto Teddy’s plate as the little boy glared at their existence. 

“Either, but I wanted to focus on the parents’ thing,” Ginny said. 

Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, taking another bite of her food and mulling things over. “I’m okay. I think. It comes in waves.” She chewed thoughtfully, looking back up to Ginny, “Your dad talked to me the other night, and it helped.” 

“He’s getting wiser, I swear,” Ginny snorted with a fond smile, “He used to just be my goofy dad who tinkered. Now, he has these profound thoughts about life.” 

“What did Mr. Weasley say?” Harry asked. 

“He said that family hurts us more than any other, but that maybe my parents are just confused,” she sighed, scooting her food around on her plate with her fork. “That, maybe, they’ll come around.”

“But you aren’t so sure,” Ginny declared. Hermione nodded, and the redhead sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “Dad took it the hardest, when Percy left. Mum might’ve been the most vocal about it, but it really bothered Dad. We’d talk about it, whenever everyone else was asleep, because they’d just get mad and start bad-mouthing Percy. Dad just wanted to be able to miss him, in his own way.”

Hermione nodded, thinking over how remorseful Percy had been after the war, after everything that had happened between him and his family. Hermione realized that she had found another thing that she and Percy had in common, and it was about more than their love of old books and former shared position. Percy had fallen out, yet been able to redeem himself and return home. In Hermione’s situation, she wasn’t entirely sure if such a thing were possible, let alone if her parents’ even wanted her to come home. 

Admittedly, it was hard to feel as though she’d made the right decision in cutting off contact with her parents. Sometimes, she struggled with feeling as though she were entirely in the wrong. But, she’d remember her own mother, thinking that a broken, beaten, cast out daughter was better than one with a wand, and she’d remember that she’d done what was best for herself. 

“It’s not going to feel okay right now,” Harry reminded, pretending that he didn’t see Teddy scoot the vegetables off of his plate and onto the table. “Give it time, give yourself some space from the situation, and you’ll be able to look at things clearly.” 

  
Ginny nodded, “Right now, you’ve got a lot of feelings - about things beyond just your parents. It’s clouding your judgment.” 

“Just trust us, and the rest of the people that love you, when we say that you did the best thing,” Harry insisted with a smile. 

Hermione returned it carefully, nodding as she continued to poke at her food, and grinning when Teddy had shoved the vegetables off of the table and onto the floor with a resounding  _ splat. _

Dinner was finished with idle chitchat and discussions of Ron’s impending wedding, and Hermione had quietly excused herself by admitting that she was exhausted. Harry and Ginny had bid her goodnight, and she’d stooped down to where Teddy was playing with a puzzle to wish him goodnight as well. 

“Goodnight, Aunty,” he said, hugging her tightly around the neck and grinning when she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you,” he said, and didn’t seem surprised when Hermione doubled back and snuck another hug, gripping him tight and breathing him in. 

“I love you too, Teddy,” she murmured, squeezing tightly enough that the little boy thought it was more of a game, rather than her breaking down. “So,  _ so _ much.” Reluctantly, she pulled away, smoothing his hair down as he resumed his puzzle, and she hurried into the Floo before Harry and Ginny could see her silent tears. 

In the safety and solitude of her apartment, Hermione released the ache in her shoulders with a heavy, shuddering sigh, clapping her hand over her mouth as a sob tried to break free. She sat down on the coffee table, burying her face in her hands, and tried to keep her crying to a minimum. She'd done so well all day, it'd be a shame to break down now.

“‘Mione?” a voice from the kitchen asked, and Hermione started before blinking at Ron, who was rushing towards her with a steaming mug in his hands and a look of concern on his face. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to swipe her tears away as he knelt beside her, checking for injuries. 

“I came to ask you something, but more importantly - why are you  _ crying _ ?” he asked worriedly, hurrying to find a place to set the mug before deciding it best to just put it in her hands. He pulled her up to stand, ushering her to a proper seat on the couch and bustling around. He got more like his mother when he was worried about someone, especially when tears were around. “Did something happen?” 

Hermione stared at him blankly, slowly smiling when he winced upon recollection and his ears began to turn red. “Just...everything, I guess,” she admitted. 

He nodded twice, sitting down beside her after grabbing a blanket and placing it over her lap. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his palms together anxiously, “I certainly don’t envy you. You’re having a rough go of things, right now. Anything I can do to help?” 

She smiled, knocking their knees together. They’d been a shit couple, but excellent friends. She was glad that, after everything, they still had their friendship. “Distract me a bit, yeah?” she said, blowing on the hot tea. It was something citrusy and bright, which wasn’t what she normally went for, but she wouldn’t mind an already prepared tea. “What’d you want to ask me?” 

“Oh - Lavender wants to know if you prefer wearing sage or maroon,” he said with a shrug, leaning into the couch cushion and spreading his arms along the back of it. 

Hermione blinked, her brows furrowing, “Err...why?” 

“Well, she’s got Harry in sage, because she says it matches his eyes? I told her that I haven’t particularly spent much time gazing into Harry’s eyes to notice,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But she wants to know if you’d like to match Harry, or not.” 

Hermione blinked again, trying to piece the conversation together, setting the mug on the coffee table so that her hands were free. “I was just going to wear that dress that I wore to Fleur and Bill’s wedding, why?” 

It was Ron’s turn to furrow his brow, scratching his head as he thought, “I don’t think Lav will like that.” 

She huffed, steepling her fingers together and leaning towards Ron, “Why would Lavender not like me wearing that dress? It’s a dark red, it rather matches the colors.” 

“She was very adamant,” Ron insisted, although he seemed just as puzzled as Hermione had. “She said, ‘Go and ask Hermione if she wants to wear sage or maroon, and whatever color Hermione doesn’t pick then I’ll put on one of the bridesmaids.’” 

Hermione froze, her brain whirring as she stared at Ron, “Ronald. Why would the color that I pick matter, and why would the other color go to a bridesmaid?” 

Ron stared at her as he thought long and hard about it, before his eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath. “ _ I forgot to ask you! _ ” he nearly shouted, pitching himself forward and groaning into his hands. “I completely forgot, I’m an absolute idiot - it’s just, since we moved the wedding up, and Auror stuff, I - ”

“Ron - what did you forget to ask me?” she insisted, looking at him blankly. 

Ron sobered up, swiping his hands down his face and turning to her with a slow grin. “Hermione,” he said, slowly, before breaking into a beaming smile, “D’you want to be my grooms-woman?” 

Hermione faltered, her mouth dropping open, and she stared at him. 

“I already told Lav you’d do it, anyway,” he stated. 

She snorted, smacking his arm as he laughed at her. “You - Ronald!” she said, laughing herself, “I can’t believe you forgot! Your wedding is in three days!” 

“I honestly thought I’d already asked you,” he said, laughing once more. “So, that’s why she needs to know if you want to match with Harry - he’s my best man, obviously, though that’s only because he’d made me one for his and Gin’s wedding. Honestly, I’d have you two fight over it, but that wouldn’t be very fair to Harry.” 

Hermione sniffled, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, smiling when he patted her back and said nothing. “I’ll leave it up to Lavender,” she said, muffled into his shoulder. 

“That’s probably for the best - she’s been on the warpath, lately,” he muttered, pulling away and appraising her before smiling. “Feel better?” 

She nodded, scooting back onto her cushion properly. 

“Great - because I’m nicking my tea back, thanks,” he said, leaning forward and snatching the mug to quickly sip. 

Hermione gaped, affronted, “I’d thought that was for me!” 

“Nooo - you live here, you know where the tea is,” he said, chuckling when she swatted at him, yet stood to make her own mug of tea. “Can you bring back biscuits?” 

“No, you should’ve thought of that before you sat down,” she chided, although once she’d made her tea and returned, she had thrown a packet of biscuits at his head.

Ron stayed for maybe an hour or so longer, chatting about work and the wedding, and how things were going at the twins' shop, and finally, how things were going with Fred. 

"He helped me pack, today," she said, quietly and into the final dredges of her tea, thumbing the handle idly. "He...well, he said we should kiss before the wedding, and so we did." 

A younger, more immature Ron would've exploded into a flurry of colorful curses and bitter mutterings, but now Ron only squinted at her in confusion. It was a testimony to how much he'd grown and matured since their years at Hogwarts, as even when Hermione had attempted to casually date after the end of their relationship, he'd been nothing but supportive. It was as it'd always been, but somehow better - now, Hermione could tell him about the blokes she fancied, or abhorred, or anything else just as she might with Harry. It was a weight off of her shoulders, to be honest. 

"Why would you need to kiss before Lav and I got married?" he asked, staring back at Hermione's deadpan stare before intoning, "Ahh - _your_ wedding, my bad." 

"Yes, you aren't the only one off the market these days," Hermione teased, smiling at Ron's grin. 

"So, you kissed Fred," he said with a shrug, "And?" 

She sighed, and Ron snorted, and she shot him another look. "It was a perfectly fine kiss," she said irritably. 

"The basis for scintillating romances - kisses that are just _fine_ ," he scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "Look, you shouldn't jump into this expecting to, I dunno, fall head over heels in the first month. That's just unrealistic." 

Hermione hummed, tipping her head in acknowledgment, "I told Harry earlier." At the quirk of his brow, she continued, "He said he wished that I could've gotten married to someone I was 'over the moon' in love with, and had sparks and fireworks and all of that jazz." 

"Yeah," Ron said, suddenly turning wistful, although he turned his head and scratched at his nose, because he didn't know how to have these sorts of conversations with her. She smiled - somethings didn't have to change. "I wish you could have that too. But, you know, you don't always get sparks and fireworks this early on. If things were different, and you didn't have the Marriage Law, and it was just you and it was just Fred. Then you two could go slow - I know both of you well enough to know that it would go absolutely, _painfully_ slow with the pair of you if not for this law. And maybe then you'd get the sparks and the fireworks and the flowers and butterflies and all of that other stuff that Lav gushes about. And maybe you still will, but for now you just have to wait for the butterflies before you get the sparks, and so on and so forth." At her silence, Ron finally returned his gaze to her and winced, "Did that make sense?" 

She smiled, nodding slowly. "It did, in a way," she admitted before shrugging, tucking some hair behind her ear and sighing once more, "I dunno, I just never thought about me and Fred in any capacity." 

"Well, why don't you start now?" Ron asked, laughing at her doubtful glance, "Seriously - just...I dunno, give him a chance. I know he's a massive git, but he's alright." 

Hermione winced, and Ron scoffed, scooting further down the couch to kick at her shin. "Oy!" she shouted, glaring at him for sloshing her tea about - it was cold, and there wasn't enough for it to spill, but it was the principal of the thing. 

"Stop being so negative," he chided, although he was smiling, "I don't know whether you were thinking poorly of yourself, or Fred, or what, but seriously - that's not going to help you any. Yeah, you've got a bad situation, but out of everyone that I've ever known, Fred's the one who can make a bad situation tolerable." 

She faltered, thinking things over, and it seemed that Ron was taking the opportunity to summon another sleeve of biscuits. "That's just it - I don't want a marriage that's just tolerable. I know it's asking for too much, especially with things the way they are, but I want the butterflies and the sparks and the fireworks and the flowers. I want us to have things in common, and I want to have interesting conversations. I want someone who thinks of me, even when I'm away, and looks after me and makes me laugh. I want to have someone who likes me - I want someone in the same way that Harry has Ginny and that you have Lavender."

Ron frowned, but nodded her along.

"I want to marry my best friend," she said forlornly, because that was the difference. Her friends were married, or marrying, people that they enjoyed spending time with and seeing every day. When she thought ahead to her future with Fred, she didn't know what to expect, but she was rather certain that tolerable was her best shot at things, and that rather sucked. Call her a hopeless romantic, but she wished that falling in love was as easy as the books and movies made it appear to be. 

Ron crunched slowly on his biscuit, no doubt thinking things over, and sighed heavily, "I hate to tell you this, but I think Ginny's off the market." 

Hermione laughed, chucking a throw pillow at him, grinning back at him as he grumbled about knocking crumbs about. "I'm being mopey, aren't I?" she asked with a sigh, picking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, tucking them into her chest as she protectively held her tea. 

"Yeah, but you're allowed to be," Ron insisted with a shrug, standing and swiping crumbs off of his worn, ragged Weasley jumper. He set the package of biscuits on the coffee table, stretched his arms over his head, before bending and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He pulled away with a grin, "Just not at my wedding." She smiled, wrinkling her nose when Ron tapped the side of it. "And no crying when I leave - I'll be heartbroken if I hear that I put in all of this hard work to distract you, and you still wind up crying." 

"No promises, but I'll make sure you don't hear about it," she answered. 

"There we go," he nodded, standing and straightening his clothes importantly. "Now, rehearsal's tomorrow at dinner time, the day of the wedding you're to arrive at the Burrow promptly at two in the afternoon, because that's when the ladies are arriving to prepare, and Lav wants a chance to do your hair." 

"It's her wedding, she shouldn't have to do my hair," Hermione insisted with a frown. 

"She wants to - I think it's her white whale," he hummed thoughtfully. 

"You've read Moby Dick?" 

  
"Whose dick?" 

  
"Ron!" she shouted with a laugh, shaking her head as he grinned back at her. "Fine, two in the afternoon, where I'll allow her to do my hair and stuff me into a sage or maroon dress. It'll be my wedding present to her." 

"You're joking, but she'll be thrilled," he said, smiling as he waved, heading towards the Floo. "Bye, 'Mione - call if you need anything, alright?" 

Hermione said her goodbyes, still seated from the couch, and waited until the Floo died down to look around her flat. She was far too tired to clean, let alone to think and resume her breakdown, so she sipped the remainder of her tea until the mug was empty.

"I hate when he calls me that," she said before making her way to get ready for bed, even though she didn't really mean it. 


	10. Honey, Let's Get Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasley Wedding and Family Bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter (over 10k words!), as I'd wanted to put in a lot of little moments amidst the wedding stuff - I've only been to two weddings in my life, so forgive me for inaccuracies. 
> 
> "I know it's hard enough to love me/ But I woke up in a safe house singing, "Honey, let's get married"..." - Bleachers, "Let's Get Married"

Hermione had arrived at the Burrow obscenely early, sharing breakfast with Mr. Weasley, a teary eyed Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny. Lavender had decided to forgo breakfast due to wedding nerves, and Ginny lamented that her brother was too busy eating the pantry of Grimmauld place to stop and think about his own nerves. 

So, Hermione had eaten with a few of the Weasleys before marching up the stairs to Ginny’s old bedroom, where her poor hair had staged a great battle, but unfortunately lost to Lavender’s keen eye and determination. 

She’d descended the stairs carefully, mindful of the heels that now adorned her feet as she gripped the railing like a lifeline. She’d offered a genial smile to Padma and Parvati, who had cleared the way for her descent, and breathed a sigh of relief once she finally made solid ground. 

“There’s the lovely Miss Granger,” Mr. Weasley said with a beaming smile, standing in the doorway for the living room. He’d no doubt heard her careful trek, and thought it best to stand guard in case of any injuries. 

Mrs. Weasley rounded the corner, caught sight of Hermione, and had to excuse herself to her bedroom, carrying a handkerchief to her eye as she passed. 

“Is she alright?” Hermione asked worriedly, thinking to follow and check on the matronly witch. 

“She gets a bit weepy during the weddings of her children,” he explained fondly, “Ginny mentioned sedating her while she and Harry tied the knot. I’m fairly certain she was joking.” 

Hermione chuckled, taking careful steps towards the living room, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress for any wrinkles that might have appeared. It was a beautiful color, one that reminded her of lovely spring nights that echoed of summers, lazing in the grass and watching the sky go by. There were thin straps of sleeves looped around her shoulders, and Lavender had been quoted as saying it was a “princess neckline” and “a-line,” which surely meant something to her. It was a silky, floaty material, and Hermione could see herself becoming very chilly very soon. 

“You do look lovely, my dear,” he stated gently. 

“Thank you - be sure to tell Lavender that, she was very concerned over whether I would like the color or not,” Hermione smiled. 

“Well, a majority of the boys are helping set up, although Harry and Ron are in the kitchen,” he directed, already heading towards where Molly had disappeared to. 

Hermione clicked down the hallway, surprised when the skirt of the dress billowed behind her, though she would admit that it did rather make her feel like a princess. 

When she entered the kitchen, she immediately scowled. 

“Ronald - you are in your best dress robes, about to be married,” she snapped, “Put the sandwich down, for Merlin’s sake!”

“It’s got mustard,” Harry argued, his hands enclosed on the sandwich as Ron glared at him, still attempting to sneak a bite. 

“The wedding’s not for another hour, and the reception’s not for two!” he argued, releasing his grip and huffing at his two friends. “Besides, it’s my wedding - I’ll walk out there with mustard on my robes if I want.” 

“A bit of a groom-zilla, aren’t you, mate?” Harry grinned, setting the sandwich on a plate and placing it in the old Muggle fridge that had been an anniversary present to Mr. Weasley one year. It’d been Harry and Hermione’s idea. 

“And I doubt Lavender would be pleased to walk all the way down the aisle and see you standing at the end of it, covered in mustard,” Hermione insisted, stepping forward and straightening Ron’s tie. 

Ron winced at the mental image of his bride-to-be’s fury, but scoffed and grumbled anyway. After his tie had been straightened, he regarded Hermione with a blink. “You’re wearing a dress,” he noticed. 

Hermione shot a look to Harry, who grinned widely. 

“And heels!” Ron bellowed. 

“I’m going to murder you, and Lavender would understand,” Hermione deadpanned, although the corners of her mouth twitched into a grin. 

“The green does look good on you and Harry,” he mused, hand to his chin as he regarded them. 

Harry had adorned a Muggle suit that had been dyed the appropriate shade of green, and Hermione had to admit that it went wonderfully with his eyes. In his lapel was a small spray of flowers, the deep red color that Lavender had requested, which contrasted nicely. 

At the attention, Harry preened. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hermione quipped, although she laughed as she said it. 

“I’m also the best man, so you can just shut it,” Harry sassed, tweaking her ear as he said it and grinning when she swatted at him, reaching to mess with him as well. 

“Oy!” Ron shouted, breaking them apart, “I’m trying to have a moment with my two best mates - none of that, thank you!” 

Harry and Hermione laughed, yet settled, each of them leaning against the table as Ron stood before them. He shifted nervously, rubbing his palms against his trousers. Outside, through the window, they could see a few redheaded specks in the distance raising the white tent. 

“I - well…” Ron started, looking for the words to say, “Thank you, I suppose.”

“Riveting.” 

“Inspirational.” 

Ron huffed, grin returning, and rolled his eyes. “Thank you, both, for being here. It means the world to me that you are.” 

Hermione faltered, feeling like she’d been hit in the chest. Ron didn’t do feelings often, but when he did it meant everything. In a moment, she felt every high and low point in her life, all of which had been shared between the other two standing in the room beside her. She looked to Harry, and saw him just as reflective. 

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, you know,” she stated gently, sharing a smile with the groom. While they wouldn’t ignore their friendship with Harry, there was something to be said about how far they - Ron and Hermione - had come. After the breakup, she’d been so sure that things would go south and sideways, and she would lose Ron and his family forever. 

That clearly hadn’t been the case.

Hermione didn’t know why she had gotten all teary-eyed, but she blinked them away before her makeup would be ruined. Abruptly and without warning, Ron towed her into his side, pressing his cheek against the top of her head as she sniffled. 

“You’re worse than Mum,” he mumbled, but then his other arm was taken up with Harry, who had slid his arms around the two of them as he tucked his head under Ron’s jaw. 

The three stood there for a moment or two in silence. 

It was reminiscent of Harry’s wedding, Hermione realized with a start. They’d stood in Grimmauld place’s kitchen and hugged after his small, quiet and uneventful bachelor’s party. 

Hermione wondered if they would do this when she got married, or if it was only reserved for weddings where those involved were actually in love. 

“If you crush Hermione’s hair, Lavender’s going to be pissed,” Ginny announced from the doorway, grinning at the glare that she received from her brother yet remaining steadfast in her place. 

Hermione patted her hair, just in case, but lowered her hand when she saw Harry shake his head and motion her out into the backyard. 

Hermione followed, walking carefully down the steps as Harry offered her an arm. 

“Think Gin wanted to talk to him, before things got busy,” Harry stated, leading her down the small path that would lead the guests to the tent that stood mountainous against the horizon. “Think they all might - they did with Gin and Bill, at least.” 

Hermione nodded, detouring into the garden with a careful grip on Harry’s arm. “It feels odd, doesn’t it?” she asked, smiling up at him as he turned to look at her in confusion. “Ron getting married, and then I’m next.” 

Harry huffed a laugh, nodding as they oversaw the commotion at the tent from a safe distance away. “We’re getting so old,” he said, watching Charlie chase down Bill as the eldest Weasley brother roared with laughter. “I love it,” he said with a grin. 

She slid her hand from his arm, instead winding her arms around his chest and hugging him tightly. “Me too,” she murmured as she felt him return the hug with a fierceness that she hadn’t seen since the war. 

  
They’d all been through so much together, hadn’t they? From trolls to dementors, werewolves and escaped convicts - all that and so much more, and they’d been side by side. 

It felt strange, watching everyone break off to find their own lives and families, and Hermione still hadn’t a clue as to her own future. 

She kept it to herself, not wanting to ruin the jovial mood whipping through the autumn air, and turned alongside Harry when she heard a faint pop. 

Teddy Lupin had been eager to carry the wedding rings down the aisle, up until the very moment that he’d been corrected - he had then been devastated to learn he was the ring bear _ er _ , and wouldn’t be transformed into a bear to carry rings down the aisle.

Hermione grinned as she took the grumpy little boy from his grandmother’s arms, kissing his little cheek as he pouted at the world. 

“Please?” he tried again, this time turning his glistening eyes to his godmother. 

Hermione, despite having no context, only grinned and kissed his nose instead, “No, sweetheart, you cannot be a bear at Uncle Ron’s wedding.” 

His face pinched, and he looked like he might cry. 

“You wouldn’t have any hands, bud,” Harry insisted, although he was sharing a grin with Andromeda. “You need your hands to carry the rings, don’t you?” 

The tears dissipated, and Teddy was left pouting again as he examined their logic. “I can balance them on my head,” he argued. 

“What if they fall off? How would you pick them up?” Hermione asked. 

Teddy turned silent, glaring down at the ground as he slumped against her, and Hermione knew that they had won. 

She chuckled, settling him on his feet and crouching down to straighten out his little maroon suit. Teddy’s hair morphed into brown ringlets that sprouted from his head, and she smoothed them down as well. 

“Now, Teddy, listen to me very carefully,” Hermione began, waiting until she caught his eye, “You are to remain tidy and clean until after the wedding is over. Afterwards, you can be as messy as you want - but only  _ after _ the wedding.” 

“Five Sickles he won’t make it to the wedding march,” Andromeda whispered out of the corner of her mouth, and Harry accepted her challenge as she rolled her eyes. 

Andromeda, despite facing so many losses and challenges in her life, was a warm and caring person - to those she liked, at least. For Harry, she was an echo of Sirius, with similar grins and rebellious spirits, and plenty of stories up her sleeve when he was missing his own godfather. For Hermione, she was a level head in a raging storm, and offered motherly advice whenever it pertained. 

Hermione had been meaning to visit, but had been very busy. 

“Teddy Lupin,” Hermione repeated archly, giving her best stare to regain his focus, as he’d taken to grinning up at his grandmother and Harry, “What did I say?”

“Tidy and clean,” he repeated dolefully. 

“Thank you - now, go see your Uncle Charlie, I’m sure he’s got something for you from Romania,” she said, grinning as he zipped off in the direction of the tent, hollering Charlie’s name as his little legs carried him as fast as possible. Hermione, Harry and Andromeda each watched carefully until he’d plowed into Charlie’s arms and had been hoisted into the air. 

“Oh, to be young,” Andromeda sighed, turning to the two with a wide smile that had a ghost of her daughter around the edges. “I adore every time you drop him off, yet find myself thankful when you whisk him away. My back isn’t as good as it once was, you know.” 

“What are you talking about? You could bench press me,” Harry argued with a laugh, kissing the older woman’s cheek before Hermione did the same to the other. 

“Hermione, dear, you look lovely,” Andromeda said, changing the topic as she took Hermione’s hands in hers, twirling her into a spin to watch the fabric float up and around her. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Harry?”

“Err, yes,” Harry said lamely, the other witch cheekily winking at her. She lovingly embarrassed Harry as much as she could, and no special occasions could ever spare him. 

Hermione laughed, letting Andromeda fix her curls to frame her face better. Lavender had wrangled her hair into a loose up-do, pulling out a few haphazard curls around her face - Andromeda was just making them a bit sleeker, more structured. 

“Has anyone complimented you properly?” she asked once her work was done, casting a judging glance over her shoulder at Harry before she awaited her answer. 

“Mr. Weasley has,” Hermione answered. 

“Well!” Andromeda chided, and Harry winced. She took up Hermione’s arm, leading her down the path and towards the tent, “We’re off to find some proper young gentlemen then!” 

Harry gawked, watching them meander while he opted to return to the house. 

Andromeda slowed them from their meaningful step to a gentle, wandering stroll. 

“How are you, dear?” she asked before giving a quirk to her lips, “Loaded question, I know.”

Hermione heaved a monumental sigh, looking up to the overcast sky and watching the clouds float steadily on. It’d been so long since she’d seen Andromeda properly, for more than the five minutes it took to shuttle Teddy from place to place, that she didn’t know where to begin. There was the fact that it was Ron’s wedding, and although they’d broken up amicably, it was still very strange. The situation with her parents wasn’t to be ignored, as it still weighed heavily on her. Her disastrous departure from the Ministry. And, oh yes, let’s not forget everything to do with the Marriage Law. 

So, she settled with, “Today, I am fine.” 

Andromeda, as perceptive as she was, caught on with a grin, “Then today, we won’t mention a thing. Some day this week, however, I’d love a visit if you have the time. I’ve heard bits and pieces from Harry, and a little from the Prophet, but I’d prefer to hear how you’re doing from you.” 

Hermione nodded, smiling as they walked underneath the large canopy. From strategic points in the rafters, there were small bouquets of green and red, ribbons cascading from one side of the tent to the other. The tent was awash with a soft glow, illuminating the shade underneath, and the makeshift floor echoed the clicks of their joined heels. Seats were still being distributed, Percy at the helm of it as he muttered to himself and calculated the space he was given. Off to the side were Bill and Charlie, Teddy secured around Charlie’s neck and hanging off of his back as Charlie swayed from side to side and maintained his conversation, the little boy giggling. Oliver passed by as he made his way to the podium, halting once he caught sight of the two. 

“Is that Hermione Granger?” he asked, although he was grinning as he approached the two. “Look at ya! In a dress!” 

Hermione scowled at Oliver, accepting his quick hug and peck to the cheek regardless. “Why is that something that everyone feels the need to remark?”

“It’s a momentous occasion,” he responded with a shrug. 

“I wear dresses, Oliver,” she chided. 

“Do ye?” he grinned. 

“I’ll hit you.” 

“Don’t, please,” Percy said as he approached, fixing his glasses as he neared them. “Hello, Mrs. Tonks.” 

“Percy, a pleasure as always,” Andromeda smiled, her gaze drifting from him to Oliver and then back again. She seemed to notice something that Hermione didn’t, and turned her attention to Oliver. “You seem like a fine young man - come along, let’s get acquainted.” She then departed from Hermione, scooped up Oliver’s arm and whisked him away to another spot of the tent, speaking as she guided them away while Oliver was left wondering what had just happened. 

“She’s such a Slytherin,” Hermione remarked with a smile. 

“Think she could tell I was hovering,” Percy said with a huff of a laugh. “I wanted to apologize for my absence - especially once you were having issues with your family.” She turned to look at him, seeing a hurt expression on his face as he cleaned off his glasses with a pocket square, which he took the time to carefully fold and replace. “I’ve not been a very good friend, have I?” 

“Oh, Percy,” Hermione said, turning to face him properly and placing her hands on his shoulders, “You’re a wonderful friend, and don’t you doubt that. With everything that happened at the Ministry, I don’t blame you for needing space.” 

“I never should’ve gone back to that place, after the war,” he said, shaking his head with a scoff. “I’d thought I was changing things, making a difference - what rubbish.” 

“Hey, I was right there beside you,” she said with a small smile. 

“Yes, but you hadn’t forsaken your family to side with the Ministry when it was corrupt, had you?” he quipped, snorting when she winced. 

“I...well, I feel I’m doing something similar,” she admitted, tucking her arms around her middle and pressing her lips together. 

“Oh, Hermione, you don’t really think that you’re doing what I did during the war, do you?” Percy asked, aghast. “No, no - if anything, I see your parents following in my lead. Your situation is entirely different, you were doing the right thing. It’s  _ their _ heads that need to get screwed on right, not yours. Give it time, you’ll see.” 

Hermione offered a smile, nodding gently despite not entirely believing him. It was very similar to what his father had said, and she didn’t have the gumption to analyze either of their words. Thinking about her parents was still an open wound, deep and raw whenever the idea struck. Too much was going on, so she was at least able to keep busy, but eventually she’d have to face her issues. 

“You’d best go save Oliver, he looks incredibly lost,” she said, pointing out his fiance’s clear distress as he shot furtive glances to the two of them while Andromeda continued on about something unknown. Percy chuckled, heading their direction with a spring in his step. 

Hermione turned, taking her wand and snapping more chairs into neat little rows. 

“Oy, wedding party doesn’t help out,” Charlie chided, marching with a purpose that jostled Teddy around, heedless of the little boy’s weight against his back. Bill followed, a lopsided grin on his face as he watched Charlie swallow Hermione in a hug, squeezing her tightly. 

“Since when? I was Ginny’s maid of honor, and you had me stringing up lights,” she insisted against his chest. 

“Since just now, when I said so,” he said, parting from her with a grin. “So! Freddie, huh?” 

She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples, “Not today.” 

“Ask him about his match,” Bill advised, Charlie’s good mood quickly souring as his smile morphed into a deep scowl. 

“That bad?” Hermione asked, aghast at how quickly the dragon tamer’s demeanor had changed. 

“No - just unwanted,” he said with an aggravated sigh. “We’re indifferent to each other.” 

“They’re against the ‘capture and domestication of dragons,’” Bill said, grabbing Teddy as Charlie grumbled. 

“We’re a dragon reserve! We rehabilitate! Why would we domesticate them if we’re going to release them in the wild afterwards?” he shouted, Hermione biting her lip to keep from laughing as Bill bounced his brows behind his brother’s back. 

“You seen my wife and daughter?” Bill asked instead, sighing when Hermione shook her head. “Probably still at the cottage - Fleur was upset that nothing fit when I left.” 

“Fleur?” Charlie asked, turning from his tirade, “Does the Veela thing even let her weight fluctuate?” 

Bill blinked, but remained tight lipped, staring back at his brother in silence even as Teddy began to squirm in his grasp. 

Hermione grinned, grabbing her godson from him and settling him on the ground, watching him run towards his grandmother before she arched a brow. “Congratulations?” 

Bill winced as Charlie’s eyes widened, whipping back and forth to stare between them, “Don’t tell - it’s Ron and Lavender’s day, we don’t want to ruin it.”

“Secret’s safe with us, isn’t it, Hermione?” Charlie asked, loping an arm around her shoulders, although he was beaming. 

“It’s safe with me, at least,” she said, laughing as he cast her an affronted glare. 

“What’s safe?” Percy asked as he approached, Oliver in tow. Andromeda had carted Teddy off to watch the gnomes attempt to sneak back into the garden, which Harry had long since vacated. 

Hermione hated being put on the spot, and shot an anxious glance at Bill, who also seemed at a loss. 

Charlie snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked between the two, “Bill’s planning a surprise for his and Fleur’s anniversary, and wanted Hermione’s input and discretion.” 

“You’d be better off asking Lavender - no offense, Hermione, but you’re closer to Ginny than you are to Fleur,” Percy said, Hermione shooting him a glare as Bill and Charlie both bit back grins. 

“Where are the twins? They’re better company than you lot,” she said with a sniff. 

“No idea - which is worrying,” Bill said, although he looked completely at ease. 

“Terrifying,” Charlie added monotonously. 

“You know exactly where they are, don’t you?” Percy said with a sigh. 

“And what they’re doing, I bet,” Oliver said with a grin. 

“Who’s to say?” Charlie said, turning on his heel and marching up to the house, snapping chairs into place with a wave of his wand. “I’m off to bother Ronnie, who’s with?” 

“Coming,” Bill chimed, winking at Hermione as he followed. 

“I’m off too, then,” Percy said, starting towards the Burrow with a nod. 

Oliver faltered, looking to Hermione for guidance before she nodded him along to follow, steering him up to the garden to reunite with Andromeda and Teddy. 

The Weasleys seemed to have their moment while Oliver showed Teddy the best way to punt gnomes out of the thicket, and before long guests were arriving and Hermione was shuttled into place. 

“You’re walking out with me, Hermione,” Padma said, smoothing down the deep red dress as she grabbed several bouquets and distributed them, passing a small one to Hermione and another to her twin, who was gripping tight to Lavender and sobbing alongside the bride. Padma rolled her eyes, and pressed the bouquet to her hand before settling the larger one in Lavender’s grasp. 

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked, twisting and searching for him as they gathered in the kitchen, Parvati relinquishing her grasp with a series of sniffles.

“Blocking Ron from seeing Lav,” Padma answered, readjusting the straps to her dress and shooting a pointed look to Hermione. She grinned, mindful not to say anything negative about the dresses, but instead placing a small sticking charm to the other witch’s dress to keep the fabric in its proper places. 

“I’m here - Ron’s through the front and going around,” Harry said, walking through from the living room and halting. “I feel outnumbered,” he muttered, winding around and hiding behind Hermione. 

“You should,” Padma quipped, shooting him a grin. “Everything’s in place, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Harry answered, “We’ll hear the music start, which will give us time to get down there and into position.” 

“Excellent - Lav, Parvati, please dry your tears,” Padma chided. 

Hermione smiled at Harry, who shared a grin as he bounced on his toes. She was beginning to feel jittery, a bundle of nerves swarming in her chest, but it was a good sort of nerves - she was excited for Ron and Lavender, and couldn’t wait to see them happy together. 

“Back from the bathroom!” Ginny announced, winding and plopping Teddy onto the ground between Harry and Hermione before shooting out of the backdoor, hurrying to get to the tent before it was too late. 

The Floo roared, and Fleur hurried in with frenzied clicks of her heels, Victoire in her grasp. Hermione glanced to her blush pink dress and arched a brow, trying to determine if there was a hint of a bump, but finding nothing. 

“I am so sorry - I was afraid we were late,” Fleur gasped, her cheeks tinged pink as Padma shot Harry a look for inadvertently lying to her. “Do you ‘ave - ?”

“Here,” Parvati said, passing off a tiny basket wrapped with bows, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, she’s so darling in her little dress - ”

While Victoire was adorable in her flower girl’s dress, Hermione wasn’t sure it was something to cry over. To her horror, Lavender teared up once more, and Fleur was quick to follow, leaving three sniffling witches in the kitchen. 

Harry shot a worried look to Hermione as Padma groaned at the lot of them. 

“There’s far too much estrogen in here, we need to get a move on,” Padma sighed. “Fleur, are you walking with us?” 

“Oh, no, I won’t,” she said, passing Victoire off to Harry as she dabbed at her eyes. “I am a mess - it would not do.” 

Before Hermione could inquire about the mess, Fleur was hurrying out the door and down the path. 

“Can she walk?” Padma asked, bending to stare at the little blonde girl questioningly. 

“She toddles,” Harry answered. “She’ll be fine.” 

“Oh, I’ll hold her if - ”

“Parvati, you’re not getting near that child if you do not stop crying,” Padma chided, sighing once again, “Lavender, please - ”

Hermione looked to Teddy, who’d pressed himself against her leg and stared up at the proceedings with a quizzical air, likely taking everything in. “You alright?” she asked. 

“Mm,” he said, which gave her pause for concern. “Yeah.”

Hermione glanced to Harry, who was still preoccupied with the tears going on in the kitchen, before turning back to Teddy. 

“Not too much longer, alright?” she said, smoothing down his turquoise hair and frowning to herself when he clutched the fabric of her dress. 

“Alright,” he murmured. 

Suddenly, the beginning notes of music began, and the kitchen was frenzied once more. The group strode down to the tent, Lavender taking up the rear, and stood at the opening to gather themselves. Padma took Victoire from Harry, propelling her down the aisle first, which distracted the guests as they cooed at the little girl. 

Hermione shot her a look, knowing that it wasn’t the proper order that had been rehearsed, to which she shrugged and grinned at before swiping tear tracks from her sister’s cheeks. 

“Getting flashbacks to the Yule Ball, Harry?” she heard Parvati ask, the girls chuckling as his cheeks reddened before he took her arm and led her down the aisle, both walking gracefully. 

“Alright, Teddy, once I and Miss Padma get to the end, you can come down,” Hermione said, crouching to look at him properly. He seemed quiet and pale, and it worried her. 

“I’ll let him know,” Lavender said with a smile, halting Hermione once she stood. “I just wanted to thank you. For everything. For bringing Ron and I back together.” 

Hermione blinked at her, smiling as she gripped one of the bride’s hands and gave a squeeze. “I can’t wait to see you two live out your lives together,” she said, because she meant it. She was excited to see the path that Ron’s life would take with Lavender by his side, and knew that he deserved every bit of happiness that came his way. 

Lavender teared up again, her mouth quivering as she opened it, but Padma was quick to snap things back to order. 

“Stop making her cry, oh my Merlin,” Padma sighed, linking arms with Hermione and each holding their bouquet in front. She was smiling though as she turned to Lavender and said, “We’ll see you in a minute, alright?” Lavender nodded, and they walked down the aisle. 

“You’re a good friend, Padma,” Hermione said lightly as they strode together, looking at the end of the aisle to their destination. She felt unsteady in the heels, and Padma’s strong stride kept her going along without tripping. 

“You are too, Hermione,” she said, the two sharing a smile before they refocused. 

At the end, by the podium, was Ron, his hands in nervous fists at his front, looking at nothing in particular with Harry standing beside him and grinning at Hermione. Parvati, on the bride’s side, was trying to keep her tears in check once more. She heard Padma scoff beside her. Victoire was safely in her mother’s lap, biting the handle of the flower basket and gurgling as they passed. Her trail of flowers had ended before it had truly begun, as she’d dumped the basket’s worth into the floor and decided she was done.

Hermione departed from Padma, moving to stand beside Harry and beaming at Ron. 

“She’s gorgeous, Ron,” she whispered, smiling as he shot her a grateful look before refocusing his attention. 

Teddy walked through the opening, the little pillow with the rings out in front, walking slowly as he focused on his task. Hermione thought that he was preoccupied with dropping them, despite a loose sticking charm keeping them secured to the pillow as a precaution, but noticed that he was slowing his pace the further down he walked.

By the time Teddy reached the middle of the aisle, he looked up and saw everyone around watching him. 

Hermione was striding forward as soon as his little face crumpled, and the sniffles began. 

She scooped him up and into her arms, hoisting him on her hip before she turned and walked back down the aisle, feeling him hide his face against her neck and fling his arms around her. She winced as she looked back to the wedding party, but was comforted to see that no one was upset - in fact, everyone was looking worriedly at the little boy. 

She returned to her place with Harry, tugging his face out from hiding and swiping the tears away. 

“You’re alright,” she whispered as he sniffled. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back with a hiccup. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Ron insisted in a hush, leaning around Harry to check on him, “Do you want to go back with your Gram?” 

Teddy shook his head, though kept his gaze down. 

“Do you want to stand with your Aunty and I?” Harry asked. 

Teddy nodded, and Hermione placed him between her and Harry, smiling as he held the pillow resolutely, as though nothing had happened. 

Padma arched her brows, and Hermione nodded. Padma nodded in response.

The bridal march began, and every head turned to watch Lavender enter. She was swathed in white taffeta from head to toe, her ballgown of a wedding dress barely moving with each step she took. 

Hermione glanced to Ron and smiled at the awestruck look on his face before he cleared his throat and blinked hard. 

She looked to Harry, and the two shared a grin. 

Lavender made it to the altar, and soon both her and Ron were blinking back tears. 

Mr. Weasley stepped to the podium, cleared his throat gently, and began. 

Nearly twenty minutes later, because they’d written their own vows that had the entire ensemble in tears, they were Ronald and Lavender Weasley. 

“Can I get messy now?” Teddy asked as the walls of the tent were opened to the twilight, chairs vanishing and tables appearing, although more space was cleared. 

“Wait until after Uncle Ron and Aunt Lav have their first dance, and then yes,” Harry said, standing off to the side with Hermione as the commotion went on before them. “Are you sitting up front?” 

“No, take Ginny - I’ll sit with Andromeda and Teddy,” she said, smiling at his doubtful glance. “He’s not the only one uncomfortable with all of the staring.” 

At that, Harry nodded, whisking away to find his wife and drag her to the table as Hermione carted her godson through the crowd to find Andromeda and a table. 

She found Andromeda already seated at a table in the back and off to the side, swirling a glass of white wine before she caught sight of the two and smiled. With a wave of her wand, a chair was pulled out for her and a glass was filled. 

“Thank you,” she said as she dropped into the seat, setting Teddy on her lap with a sigh. 

“You handled that remarkably well,” Andromeda praised, taking a sip of her drink as she pushed a plate in front of Hermione and then took her grandson. “You’ll make a wonderful mother.” 

Hermione flushed with a wince, but accepted the compliment for what it was. 

Quickly, Parvati stood with a toast, mentioning something about Hogwarts and their school days, and the pride that she felt for their marriage, before the toast was over and she was seated. 

Harry, making direct eye contact with Hermione, was next. 

“Now, I believe I speak for both myself and Hermione - who is hiding, right over there, because she hates attention - when I say that we’re both so happy for the two of you,” Harry said, grinning when he caught sight of her glare. “You’ve both grown into remarkable, wonderful people, and to see you two fall in love all over again is...well, it’s a lot less gross than it was at Hogwarts, I’ll tell you that much.” 

The crowd alighted with laughter as the bride and groom both grimaced at the memory, Ginny smothering her laughs with a hand. 

“Ron, you’re our best friend, and the three of us have been through everything together,” Harry continued, Hermione smiling when Ron glanced to where she was seated. “That’s never going to change. Hermione and I, we’ll still be here - but you’ve got your own life, and your own family, and we’re fine with watching from the sidelines until you need us. Lavender, he’s all yours - no returns or refunds.” Lavender alighted with a laugh, as did everyone else, and Harry seated himself. 

Ginny reached forward and took his hand at the table. Harry gave it a squeeze before kissing her on the cheek. Ron, without knowing, had done the same with Lavender. 

“Why aren’t you up there?” Andromeda asked as the dinner continued, spooning carrots into Teddy’s mouth expertly. 

“I hate being put on the spot,” she explained, spearing a few potatoes on her own fork. “Too many eyes on me.” 

She made a small humming noise, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and speaking again. “I’m free on Tuesday, if you’re available,” she said. 

“I’ll be sure to pop over,” Hermione said with a smile. 

Dinner was finished, and music that she didn’t recognize started up. She watched, quietly and with a smile, as Ron and Lavender had their first dance. The floor was then opened up, and Teddy raced across to go and find trouble. 

“Aren’t you going?” Andromeda asked, nodding her head out into the crowd of people. 

“I don’t - ”

“You certainly aren’t sitting here with an old widow,” she said with a sniff. 

“I thought I might, actually,” Hermione huffed. 

“No - because this widow is going to hunt someone down for a dance,” she said with a grin, standing and dragging Hermione to her feet. “I recommend you do the same - plenty of young men who need to compliment you.” 

Hermione scoffed, watching her wander away and through the crowd, and debated sitting back down out of spite. However, someone caught her eye, and she grinned as she made her way over to him. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Neville said as he grinned, wrapping her up in a hug as she laughed. “What are you now? Sixty?” 

“I’m fifty, thank you,” Hermione insisted, pulling away with a grin, “You’ve missed a few birthdays.” 

“Yes,  _ I’m _ the one who’s hard to track down,” he said with a scoff, rolling his eyes as he lifted his drink to his mouth, “Not like I’ve been in the same place, teaching the same subject, or anything.” 

“You’re just so busy,” she said, grinning as he scoffed again and shot her a pointed stare. “How is Hogwarts treating you, Professor?” 

Neville lit up, practically beaming at her, “I love it. So much better than being an Auror - Gran doesn’t approve, but what else is new?” 

An arm lighted around her shoulders and Hermione started, looking up and catching sight of Fred. It was the first she’d seen him since the day at her flat, where they’d kissed and then laughed it off, and here he was butting into her conversation. 

“Where have you been all day?” Hermione asked, frowning as he turned to look at her with a massive, up to no good grin. 

“Preparing,” he drawled, then turned to Neville. “Do you, by chance, grow any moly down at the greenhouses?” 

Neville blinked, setting a hand in his back pocket as he regarded Fred cautiously. “That’s for counteracting enchantments, what do you - ?”

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, regarding the ginger beside her, “That’s smart, actually.” At Neville’s confused stare, she elaborated, “They test their products on themselves.” 

“Ahh - then yeah, I can get you some if you need it,” Neville answered with a shrug. 

“Excellent - our normal supplier has dropped the ball on us, and someone suggested you,” he said with a grin. 

“What do you mean?” Neville asked with a blink. 

“I mean, they gave us something akin to dandelions, and I had the face of a baboon for days,” Fred said grumpily before grinning back at Hermione, “Hence, why I haven’t seen you for a few.” 

Before Hermione could process, or get a proper image of Fred’s replacement face, the barista from the coffee shop walked up and stood at Neville’s elbow, absentmindedly fixing a bracelet on her wrist. Hermione had nearly forgotten that she had been Neville’s Ministry mandated match, as she’d had other things on her mind and had stopped visiting the cafe ever since she’d left the Ministry. 

Her long auburn hair was curled in soft waves, held away from her face with a clip while pieces framed her face. She was wearing a dark green dress with lace detailing that reached her knees, and Hermione felt overdressed in comparison. 

“Oh, Hermione, you know Millie, right?” Neville said, turning to include her in the conversation. 

Before Hermione could comprehend finally knowing the other woman’s name, her head snapped up and she balked. 

“Neville!” she shouted, groaning as she covered her face with her hand, “I had her going on  _ months! _ We were nearly to a year!” 

“Come again?” Hermione asked in confusion, Neville faltering, while Fred watched on with interest. 

Millie, no longer the nameless barista, winced as she removed her hand from her face, “I, err...was trying to see which of my regular customers could go on the longest without asking for my name. You were winning, until now.” 

Fred erupted into laughter while Hermione gaped, Neville snorting in amusement. 

“You knew?!” Hermione shouted, “I’ve felt awful for ages!” 

“Oh, Hermione, you should know by now that I wouldn’t care,” she said with a grin before settling her hands on her hips and frowning, “But, onto more important things - where have you been?” 

Hermione sighed, looking to the lights floating overhead in a mimicry of fireflies. “I quit my job at the Ministry, so I haven’t been by.” 

“Whoa,” Neville said, looking between her and Fred as Millie blinked in surprise. “Well, err, what are you doing now?” 

“She’s been helping at the shop,” Fred said, grinning at his doubtful glance. “I know - shocking, isn’t it?” 

“Save it,” Hermione muttered darkly. 

Millie, however, donned a calculating look, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded her former best customer. “Do you like it there?” she asked, gently. 

Hermione spared a glance to one of the owners of said establishment, and shrugged. Fred gasped, clutching his chest as he gaped at her, and she rolled her eyes, “It’s alright, but not something I ever saw myself doing.” 

“How would you like to help me at the cafe?” she asked, smiling as Fred whirled to gape at her instead. “All the coffee you can drink, and I’ll even pay you.” 

Hermione stared at her, determining if she was joking or not, “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah - I need an extra set of hands, because I’m going to be taking more hours next semester, to graduate early,” she explained with a shrug, “You don’t have to, but you could stay until you find something you like better.” 

Hermione mulled it over, looking over at Fred, who was staring down at the barista with a deep frown. “I - are you the owner?” she asked carefully. 

“Yeah,” Neville answered for her, “And she’s been doing it on her own since Hogwarts.” 

“ _ And _ school?” Hermione insisted.

Millie huffed, shooting Neville a halfhearted glare, “I’ve managed so far.” 

“Just can’t believe you’re swiping one of my best employees right in front of me,” Fred grumbled. 

Millie glanced up at him and grinned, “You gonna fight for her, then?” 

He pursed his lips, hummed, and intoned, “Nah - her decision.” 

Hermione mulled it over, deliberating for a moment before nodding, “Alright, when would you want me to start?” 

“Whenever you’re free,” she shrugged. 

“Horrible business practice,” Neville muttered into his drink. She shot him a heated glare, and he grinned behind his glass. 

“Wednesday?” Hermione asked, mindful of the time she’d allotted for Andromeda on Tuesday. 

“Perfect - just show up at about 5:30 in the morning, and we’ll get everything set,” she said with a smile that Hermione was quick to return. 

“Oh, I see Dean and Seamus - they’ve been wanting to meet you, actually,” Neville said, turning to Millie with a grimace, Hermione watching as the woman paled. 

“Onwards, then,” she said, parting from Fred and Hermione with a smile as Neville steered her towards the other two former Gryffindors. 

“A baboon face, huh?” Hermione asked, turning to grin up at Fred as he sipped at his own drink. 

“It was harrowing, honestly - lucky that it wore off before the wedding, or else Mum would’ve had kittens,” he said, although he was smiling genially. “So - having fun?” 

“The reception just started,” she answered. 

“You could be having a blast by now, if you wanted,” he pointed out. 

She shrugged - parties with loud music and lots of dancing weren’t necessarily her cup of tea, and that was exactly what wedding receptions were once the dinners were finished and the cake had yet to be cut. She could mingle and socialize when she felt up to it, but with everything on her plate as of late, catching up with old friends from school or others from the Ministry wasn’t something she wanted to spend her time doing. 

“Fleur’s pregnant again, did you know?” he asked with a cheeky grin that he hid behind his glass. 

She blinked, staring hard at him, “How did you find out?” 

“She’s got a mocktail - how’d you find out?” 

Hermione snorted, peering around the other guests, but catching no sight of Fleur. “Bill mentioned she was having trouble finding something to wear that would fit, and Charlie made the comment speculating if her Veela genetics would allow her weight to change.” 

“So that’s how you found out?” 

“No - the look on Bill’s face,” she grinned, smiling when he chuckled. She regarded Fred then, noticing that his hair had once had some semblance of a style before the holding product had given out, making it look shaggy and careless. He had on a bottle green suit jacket with a matching tie, although the tie was loose around his throat. “You look nice,” she stated simply. 

His brows arched, and a slow grin settled across his face, and she wished she hadn’t said anything. “Why, falling for me already, Miss Granger?” 

“Absolutely not - ”

“Perfectly alright if you are - ”

“You’re ridiculous - “

“I’d fully understand if you - “

“I’m going to find Harry,” she stated with a huff, turning on her heel and winding through the crowd, hearing his good natured laugh in her ears before she propelled away. 

While she didn’t find Harry, she did find Professor McGonagall chatting with Mrs. Weasley, and decided to ease herself into the conversation. 

“Hello, Hermione dear,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, although her lip quivered when she caught sight of her properly. “You do look  _ so _ lovely.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said, turning to McGonagall with a smile. “Hello, Professor.” 

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall said with a pleasant twist of her lips, “A pleasure to see you again, it has been far too long.” Hermione winced, as it seemed as though Neville had made a point - she’d rather been neglecting most of her friends while she’d worked at the Ministry, but McGonagall simply waved it away. “I understand you’ve been very busy - Molly has been informing me of the Weasleys’ doings, and it appears as though you’ve had no shortage of struggle as of late.” 

Hermione shot a glance to Molly, who gave a quick shake of her head, and felt at ease immediately. Some things were to be kept close to one’s chest, and it appeared that Mrs. Weasley understood that. 

“I will admit, I look forward to seeing the battle of wits that will inevitably take place between you and Mr. Weasley upon your marriage,” McGonagall said, with the same tiny smile but a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “If anyone can give him a run for his galleons, I’m certain it’s you, dear.” 

Hermione laughed, especially as Mrs. Weasley chuckled. 

“Fred and George, always up to trouble,” she tutted before looking between the two women mischievously. “Did I ever tell you about the time that those two were left in charge of Ginny, just before the twins went off to Hogwarts, and they thought they’d lost her?” 

Hermione eagerly shook her head, and McGonagall visibly settled in as well. 

Towards the end of the story, Hermione was in stitches, as was McGonagall and Professors Sprout and Flitwick, and at some point Mr. Weasley had joined them to supplement any additional details. 

“Was it George or Fred who’d thought that she’d gone through a portrait and gotten trapped there, dear?” 

“Believe it was George, although that came from Charlie - he’d had a thing for horror novels, for a time.” 

Eventually, before Hermione could hear how they’d found Ginny in the broom shed, a tiny hand tugged on her dress and she’d turned to find Teddy, standing on his tiptoes and motioning to be picked up. 

She tutted, handing her empty glass to McGonagall when she offered to take it, and scooped the little boy up and onto her hip. 

His hair had turned a dark brown, straight as a pin, and his little eyes were drooping as he settled against her shoulder. 

“We’re going to go sit down for a bit,” Hermione said, quietly excusing herself from the conversation with a smile to McGonagall, a nod to Mr. Weasley, and making her way back to the table that she and Andromeda had claimed a while ago. She sat down in her chair, pressing her cheek to the top of Teddy’s head and watching everyone else begin to wind down. 

She hadn’t realized it, but she’d spent a good deal of the reception talking to the professors and the Weasley parents, as the sun had set and darkness sat at the edges of the tent. There was a chill waiting to creep in the moment that the heating charms had expired, which Hermione felt would be soon. 

“Do you want to go home and go to bed?” Hermione asked gently, smiling when he shuffled and shook his head. 

“I not tired, Aunty,” he mumbled as Hermione wrapped her arms around him, dragging her hand up and down his back. 

“You aren’t?” she asked. 

“No,” he insisted, “I’m a big boy. I can stay up.” 

“Alright,” she said, although she waited in silence until his little breaths came out in slow, deep huffs against her collarbone. She chuckled, kissing the top of his head and watching the different pairings dance across the floor. 

Fleur was carting Bill around, the two looking sickeningly in love as they grinned at one another. Across the way, by the refreshments table, Harry was chatting to a few blokes from the Auror department, Ginny by his side and speaking to Angelina and Oliver. Dean Thomas, it appeared, had commandeered Millie for a dance, and was tipping her across one arm as the pair laughed goodnaturedly at one another - Seamus and Neville were watching from the other side of the tent. 

Hermione fought a shiver as a cold burst of air creeped over her bare shoulders, holding Teddy a little bit tighter so she could keep him warm in his sleep. 

“There he is,” Andromeda cooed softly, approaching the table and sweeping Teddy’s hair off of his brow as she checked over him. “You could’ve came and gotten me, Hermione, I would’ve watched him.” 

“I’m alright,” she whispered, although she passed him off and into his grandmother’s arms as she cradled him tightly to her chest, swaying him gently lest he wake up at the transfer. He didn’t, and instead snuggled into Andromeda’s shoulder. 

“He looks just like Nymphadora, when his hair’s like this,” she murmured, kissing the fine hairs upon his head and shooting Hermione a wistful smile. Hermione shared it, knowing that she wished to have her own daughter back and in her arms. “Well, we’re off to get this one in bed - I’ll see you Tuesday?” 

“See you Tuesday,” Hermione agreed, watching her exit the tent quietly and without notice. 

Hermione sat a moment or two more, watching more and more guests exit with their own groupings. Dean, Seamus, Neville and Millie had wandered out and off to who knew where, and the older Hogwarts professors had bid their goodbyes as well. Ron and Lavender were chatting to Harry and Ginny, and while Hermione knew that she would be welcomed to join their conversation, she felt that sitting by herself for a few moments more was more appropriate. 

“Have you danced at all this evening?” a voice asked, and Hermione turned to look over her shoulder at Fred, who placed his hands on the back of her chair to peer down at her. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” she insisted. 

Fred scoffed, walking around to the front of her chair to take her hands and tow her up to her feet. Before she could protest, he’d carted her onto the floor, where he halted and dramatically offered her his hand with a bow. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she hissed, rolling her eyes as he straightened out with a grin once she took his hand. 

It was an older song that she didn’t recognize, a slower one played by a bygone jazz band. One of her hands was placed on his shoulder, the other still in his hand as she let him lead, focusing more on the placement of her feet than anything else. 

“I saw you talking to Mum and McGonagall, earlier - anything particularly embarrassing that I should know about?” he asked with an arch of his brow. 

“Just whenever you and George lost Ginny,” she answered, grinning when he tipped his head back to groan. “I would’ve stayed longer to hear more, but Teddy got tired.” 

“Yeah, poor little guy - today has been a lot for him,” he said. 

Hermione nodded, “It’s just that there were a lot of people, and he doesn’t particularly like crowds. He does better when it’s just family, I’ve found.” 

“Can’t blame him,” he said with a shrug, although he’d done a quick twist of their hands to glance at his watch, and then the sky just outside, and then where Ron stood with Lavender. 

“What was that?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at him. 

“What was what?” he asked with a grin. 

“You’re not pranking them, are you?” she hissed, huffing when his grin grew wider. “It’s their wedding day - ”

Fred tugged her an inch closer, pulling her into his chest, and whispered, “Shh - don’t call attention, especially before you know what we’re doing.” 

Hermione huffed, but waited for an explanation, staring imploringly up at him. 

“George and I overheard Lavender complaining to Mum and Ginny one day that she’d wanted some big, showy event at the end of her wedding, but it was too expensive and too short notice,” he explained quietly, glancing to the sky once more. “She’d wanted doves, or something, originally. And, well, George and I  _ do _ make fireworks - ”

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, pulling her hand from his and placing the other one on his shoulder, staring up at him as she mulled things over, “You didn’t really have a baboon’s face, did you?” 

“Nope!” he grinned before it turned into a scowl, “Although, we did have an issue with a supplier, who gave us faulty product and inadvertently almost blew the shop up while George and I were working on their wedding fireworks, but we got that sorted out. Mostly. Still needed the moly, as it’s very important in our line of work, but thankfully Professor Longbottom attended this evening.” 

“So when are the fireworks happening?” she asked instead. 

“Why? Eager, are we?” he asked, looking down his nose at her as he straightened importantly. 

She allowed a smile, tipping a shoulder as she answered, “A little. Curious to see if it’ll top the display in the Great Hall, though.” 

Fred barked a laugh, pulling her ever closer, and whispered conspiratorially, “Never - that was the best display we’ve done yet, and will ever do, purely because it was out of spite.” 

“Powerful motivator, that,” Hermione laughed. She hadn’t realized, but the entire length of their conversation had been had amidst their dancing, and the song had changed entirely - not in tempo, thankfully, as they’d look rather silly slow dancing to a fast paced song, but still. 

There was a soft pop, almost as though someone had apparated in, yet all of the lights in the tent had gone out. Overhead, the mimicry of fireflies burned brighter, clustering together in a frenzy before leaping, taking a nosedive into the heart of the dancing space before exploding in a shower of gold and pink lights. 

Enchanted doves appeared and swarmed around the remaining guests, their wings shimmering with each flap as they swooped and soared overhead. Above, rose petals showered down to gently float along the breeze, finding themselves nestling in the hair and robes of those still enough to receive them. 

Hermione turned to look at where Ron and Lavender had been standing, and smiled to see that they had their faces turned to the display, each wearing massive grins before Lavender dabbed at her eyes. 

“Flowers were supposed to go first,” Fred whispered, mostly to himself, as though he were making a note in the margins of his mind. 

“I think this one’s my favorite,” Hermione whispered back, turning to look up at Fred and smile. 

Fred returned the smile, squeezing his arms against her as a brief hug, yet still maintaining their close contact. “Thanks,” he said before making a noise in the back of his throat, as though he’d forgotten something, “You look lovely, by the way.” Hermione blinked at him, and he tugged at the sleeve of his suit jacket. “You ran off before I could return the compliment earlier - very rude, Miss Granger. We’ll have to see about docking House points.” 

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes up at him as she shook her head, “We’re out of school, and besides - we were in the same house.” 

“I’m nothing if not responsible,” he said, donning a very serious face and grave tone, which quickly disappeared the second she laughed. “Oy! No laughing at me, I’m being  _ nice _ today.” 

“Is that what this is?” Hermione teased. 

Fred huffed, although he was trying very hard not to grin back at her. “Yes - I’m a wonderfully kind human, Hermione, and I’m offended that you’ve never noticed.” 

Before Hermione could banter back, a hand had tapped on her shoulder, and she’d turned from Fred to face Ron, Lavender by her side. 

“‘Scuse me, ‘Mione, I need to blubber on my older brother for a bit,” he said, already shoving her out of Fred’s arms before he took over, grasping Fred tightly and clutching him against his chest to thump against his back. 

Hermione laughed, turning to Lavender and smiling at her before she wrapped the bride up in a hug of her own. “In case I’ve not said it properly before, congratulations,” she said into a mess of blonde ringlets. 

“I truly can’t thank you enough,” Lavender insisted, sniffling against her shoulder before she pulled away and smiled fondly at her, “You really do look lovely in sage.” 

Hermione grinned, smiling at Ginny once she inserted herself into their embrace. 

“You do realize that your own wedding preparations are now in crunch time, correct?” Ginny asked with an arched brow, her arm loped around her friends’ waists. Hermione scowled but managed to bite back a groan. 

“I’ll help,” Lavender insisted with a shrug, “Our honeymoon is just a weekend trip, for now, so I’ll be back in time to prep and plan. Being honest, I found planning my wedding to be rather fun.” 

“You’re an unimaginable creature, but you’re hired,” Ginny declared, grinning at Hermione’s puzzled look. “I thought wedding planning was the stuff of nightmares - Mum and Fleur did most of it, if I’m honest.” 

“I’ll accept all of the help that I can get,” Hermione said with a laugh, pulling from the embrace to turn and see the other Weasley siblings surrounding Ron, Harry and Fred - it was the first that she’d seen George as well, and smiled to see that he was wearing a dark red suit, meaning that he and Fred had intentionally coordinated to compliment the wedding’s colors. 

Angelina and Oliver were hanging back, chatting still by the refreshments table, and Fleur was sitting in a chair and rocking Victoire to sleep. 

“Quidditch?” Charlie asked, scratching the side of his nose with a grin. 

“Dibs on Ange and Oliver,” Ginny nearly shouted, rushing over to the other group, calling the two’s attention. 

“Absolutely not - if the professional Quidditch players are going to play, they need to be spread out across the teams evenly,” Bill argued. 

“I’m sitting out,” Percy declared. 

“No - it’s family bonding, Perce, you can’t sit out,” George insisted. 

“How do we spread three people evenly, Bill?” Harry asked. 

“Cut Oliver in half,” Fred mused with a grin. 

“Guys, Lavender and I have a portkey to catch soon - “

“Family bonding, Ron!” George and Fred chorused. 

Ron huffed, glanced at Lavender, then grinned once he received a nod. “Then if we’re going to play, then we’d best get a move on!” He ran through the tent, his siblings following behind him as Hermione walked slowly beside Lavender to sit and watch. Angelina and Oliver ripped past them at some point, as they’d quickly gathered that there was a monopoly on the best brooms, and they had the distinct disadvantage of not knowing which brooms were the best. 

Hermione sat beside the tree, waiting for Lavender to return from changing her out of her massive wedding dress, and looked up at the moon before the chaotic frenzy of a Quidditch match could obscure it. She shivered against the cold, patting her sides for her wand, before someone draped their bottle green jacket around her shoulders. 

“Alright, so George and I - obviously. Bill and Charlie on their own team - oy, Percy, are you playing or are you not?” Fred hollered, marching out onto the makeshift pitch and rolling his white oxford sleeves up and around his elbows. 

“Can we get Gin, Freddie?” George asked lazily, drifting by on his broom as it hovered across the ground. 

“Ginny’s with George and I!” Fred yelled. 

“Not fair!” Charlie bellowed as he strode out into the field. 

“Who cares if it's fair - just pick teams and get in the air, Ron’s gotta go,” Percy insisted, his arms crossed over his chest as he hopped from one leg to another, trying to keep warm himself. 

“Oliver’s with Charlie and I, then,” Bill stated. 

“Oy! Pick your family before you pick their partners, git!” Percy yelled, Oliver laughing as he passed Hermione and joined the field. 

Harry and Ron stood beside her, watching on in silence before they turned, grinned at her, and joined the fray. Angelina and Ginny soon joined, zipping through the air on their brooms to do laps while teams were finalized. Fred, George, and Ginny had laid claim to Harry and Ron as well, while Bill and Charlie had claimed Oliver, Angelina and Percy. 

Hermione settled in further against the tree, snuggling into the suit jacket as she watched everyone kick off and into the air, dark shadows playing out against the moonlit sky, shouting and jeering and laughing echoing around the clearing. 


	11. Love is Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromeda assigns homework, and Hermione goes to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written while I was catching up on recorded lectures. As such, it's currently 2am, so forgive me for any errors or any lackluster writing towards the end. This was mostly a filler chapter after Andromeda's half anyway, so I look forward to seeing what you take away from these mundane moments that I sneak little things into. 
> 
> "Oh look how the colours are changing/ New stars appear in the night sky/ This heart is starting to come to life..." - Imaginary Future, "Love is Beginning"

Andromeda Tonks’ house was a little cottage, with pale yellow shutters and a sloped, arching roof. It stood alone, in a clearing, and stood firm against the elements. 

The eerie thing about the little cottage was that it echoed of ghosts - there were nicks and scrapes that started about knee height, recalling a young Tonks, and an ugly umber arm chair that had cracked with age that spoke of Ted Tonks. Everything that added character to the abode gave way to a story that would ultimately lead to a deceased loved one, in one way or another. 

But Hermione didn’t mind. Because in those recollections and remembrances was a good deal of love, and it seeped into the very foundation of the place and into any who stepped over the threshold. 

“Remind me again - sugar and cream or - ?” Andromeda asked, busying herself in the kitchen as Hermione sat at the small, scratched kitchen table. 

“Just sugar, please,” Hermione answered, craning her neck to look up at the handmade light that loomed overhead, composed of jars and an old wagon wheel. She smiled once Andromeda returned to the table, placing a steaming mug in front of her. “Thank you.” 

“Now, let’s unpack the troubles of the world, shall we?” Andromeda said with a smile, faint lines around her eyes crinkling before she reached across the table, grasped Hermione’s hand, and gave a comforting squeeze. “Where would you like to begin?” 

Hermione sighed, withdrawing her hand from the embrace and clasping her mug tightly, thumbing the handle with a pinched brow. “Well, I’m starting a new job tomorrow. And moving in with Fred at the end of the week.” 

Andromeda hummed, brows arched as she settled her chin in her hand, “That’s exciting.” 

Hermione shot her a look and found herself grinning alongside the woman, “ _ So _ exciting.” 

“Where are you going to be working?” she asked as she sipped at her mug. 

“Carnation Cafe, it’s on Diagon Alley,” she answered, sighing forcefully, “I was a regular while I worked at the Ministry. I start obscenely early - five in the morning.” 

“Coffee does correlate with early mornings,” Andromeda said wisely, winking at her irritable glance. “I’m sure you’ll adapt just fine, it’ll just take time to get into the groove of things. Including your new abode and roommate.” 

Hermione groaned, rubbing at her temples before pressing her hands over her eyes, “It’s going to be a nightmare, I can already tell.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Hermione pulled her hands away from her face as she thought, wanting to articulate her ideas to Andromeda as best as she could. “Well, for starters, I’ll be living above the twins’ joke shop on Diagon Alley.” She chanced a glance to Andromeda’s face, and found her passively listening, so she continued. “I’ll be around Fred much more than I already am, and things will be awkward and I feel that I won’t have much space to myself.” 

“So?” she asked, her looking interestingly guarded as she sipped from her mug once more, “Fight for your space - make things less awkward.” 

“Well, I’m a bit of a people pleaser and - ”

“Then don’t be,” Andromeda said pleasantly, giving her a small smile as she looked at her with a quirked brow, “Are you, or are you not, the girl that took on my psychotic sister?” At the mention, Hermione pressed her lips together, and Andromeda gave a cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t call that ‘people pleasing.’” 

When Hermione had first met Andromeda, directly after the war and in matters concerning Teddy, she’d had a panic attack at the striking resemblance the older witch had had to her deceased, insane sister. It was during said panic attack that she’d been calmed and soothed by said witch, and distinctions had been made. Her light brown hair alongside her kind eyes were a marked difference, paired with the gentle smiles and calm demeanor surrounding her. Andromeda held herself tall, despite everything she’d endured, and watched out for those that meant something to her. Hermione was a bit honored to be included in the small circle that Andromeda kept.

“Yes, well,” Hermione said lamely, thumbing the handle of her mug once more as she flushed. 

“Tell me more about the young Mr. Weasley, I’m afraid I don’t know much about him,” Andromeda prodded. 

At this, Hermione sat back in her chair and regarded the handmade chandelier once more in thought. One of the jars was a Muggle mason jar, and another had a pink tint that looked like it had once been for perfume. 

“He’s very outgoing, for one,” Hermione began, her brow furrowing as she noticed a crack in one of the jars. “Very funny - I mean, he’d have to be, he owns a joke shop. Loud, but all of the Weasleys are loud. Brave, but you must have known that, because he was in Gryffindor.”

“Is he kind?” Andromeda asked. 

“Oh, yes - when he wants to be,” she answered, shrugging as she settled comfortably in her seat. “He’s very protective of his family, Ginny always said that he and George would look out for her at Hogwarts.” 

Andromeda hummed, holding her mug in her hands as she mulled over her next thought. Hermione sat back once more, feeling that she’d accurately described Fred to the best of her abilities, watching Andromeda study her carefully. It was something that Andromeda did sometimes, often before she would give some sage advice, and it left Hermione feeling understood. The fact that she was staring her down to take her time in thoughts concerning her left her feeling warm, like being enveloped in a hug meant to comfort. 

“Forgive me, if I’m too forward,” she began, grinning when Hermione shot her a distrusting glance, “But - if not for the new law, would you have ever thought to seek out his companionship?” 

Hermione snorted, but at Andromeda’s stern glance, she doubled back. “It’s highly unlikely - he’s Ron and Ginny’s brother, and I’m sure he only sees me as his little siblings’ friend.” 

“Forget all of that - if not for the law, would you be interested in him?” she asked again, waving her hand through the air flippantly. 

She narrowed her gaze in thought, returning to looking at the chandelier. Well, objectively, the twins’ had garnered a lot of attention at Hogwarts for their antics as well as their looks. There were many who’d fancied the twins at one point or another. Disregarding her friendship with the youngest set of the Weasleys, Hermione could imagine that she would’ve fancied them as well at one point or another. However, they were adults outside of Hogwarts now, and very different people. She mulled over what she knew about him, and weighed it against the men that typically attracted her. Of the men that she’d dated, after her breakup and before the law, all of them were typically quiet, sweet yet really rather boring. 

“Your silence is riveting, by the way,” Andromeda teased in a hushed whisper, grinning at Hermione’s huff. 

“I don’t know, I - ”

“Let me rephrase,” she said, setting her mug down and steepling her fingers before her, “If I, or Ginny, or even Harry were to say to you ‘Hermione, I’ve set you up on a blind date. He’s outgoing, funny, and kind, and although he’s loud, he’s very protective of those he cares about.’ Would you agree to the date?” 

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, and even without vocalizing, Andromeda had gotten her answer. She felt her face flush, and quickly shook it away. “But I don’t live in a world where he’s not Ginny and Ron’s older brother - he’s known me since I was twelve.” 

“And you’ve known him since he was - what - fourteen?” Hermione mumbled the correction, and Andromeda continued. “Thirteen, then - neither age a very flattering one. If you’re concerned about him seeing unflattering stages of your life, I guarantee that you’ve seen some of his as well.” 

She thought back, and thought that was rather untrue. The Weasley twins had always seemed so aloof, confident and cool back at school. She could remember studying furiously, envious of their carefree attitudes while she stubbornly remained at the library’s darkest corners in order to get ahead. Their departure from Hogwarts, while something that Hermione could never see herself doing, had made a stark impression on everyone who’d been able to witness it. 

“Hermione, I’m giving you an assignment,” she began, startling her out of her thoughts, clapping her hands deftly as though she were relaying a royal decree. “Stand your ground, don’t fall into your people pleasing ways - ”

Well, that seemed easy enough. 

“ - and find at least two more aspects of Fred Weasley’s personality within a month of living with him,” she ended, smirking at her glare. “Find things that you like about him, rather than focusing on the dislike - actually get to know him, and let him get to know you in return.” 

“Why?” she argued, petulantly, groaning as she slunk into the depths of her seat. 

“You’ll remember that I was raised with the expectation of an arranged marriage, correct?” Andromeda asked, continuing without her input, “I was convinced that, if I followed through, then I would ensure that I could  _ make _ myself like my husband. I’d find things to like about him, the good qualities that he would surely have, and focus on that as opposed to the bad qualities, including the arrangement itself.” 

“But you married Ted, and got yourself blasted off the tapestry,” Hermione chimed in. 

“Yes, but my point remains,” she sniffed, smiling at her sullen look. “My dear, don’t fret - at least you’ve got a well established friend in your match.”

Hermione remained silent, staring at the grain of the wood beneath her mug, and gave a faint smile when she noticed that there were faded, flecked bits of teal paint from an art project that had taken place decades ago. She knew that if it truly bothered her, then Andromeda could quickly right it with a wave of her wand, just like she could with every unsightly mark that blemished her surroundings, but that she likely didn’t see them as blemishes or things which needed to be fixed. No, even before their deaths, she likely saw them as tokens from her husband and daughter. 

Inexplicably, Hermione felt her heart ache for that sense of family. Every trace of her childhood had been wiped clean, in one way or another, and any future family she had would be from a decision that she’d never made. 

“A friend isn’t so bad,” she murmured, not because she had any sense of hope for the situation, but instead because it was the best she could ask for. 

Andromeda had likely seen the shift in her mood, yet said nothing about the melancholy tone her voice had taken. Instead, she’d begun to talk about Teddy and what he’d gotten up to while in her care, and they’d not spoken about the issues of the world again. 

While Hermione had been careful to return home and hurry to bed at an appropriate hour, her alarm for the morning chimed far too soon. She’d dragged herself out of bed and shuffled through her apartment, winding around stacked boxes and bare floors as she prepared herself for her day. 

When it came to her wardrobe, she’d faltered from grabbing office robes and sensible heels, and instead thought of the barista - Millie, she remembered - and what she’d seen the witch wear. So, where Hermione might have once donned pressed trousers and prim blouses, she’d instead tugged on worn jeans and a fitted black henley, letting her curls run wild as she tied her trainers and grabbed her coat. 

Diagon Alley, in the early darkness, looked like a slumbering beast. Shop windows were darkened, the cold air frosting against their panes as her reflection stared back at her. She wandered down the quiet street, her steps loud against the stillness of the morning, and glanced to the shuttered upper windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

They’d agreed to the end of the week, mainly because it allowed for George to have ample time to move his belongings in spurts during the work week. She hadn’t spoken to either of the twins much since Ron’s wedding, nor had she really spoken to Angelina at all. Selfishly, Hermione had been prioritizing her own problems and hadn’t really checked on anyone else. With a wince, she made a mental note to speak with at least George before her move, to see how he was handling things, and marched on to the cafe. 

As Hermione drew closer, her breath clouding the air around her, she noticed the golden light from the windows spilling onto the cobblestone out front. Without knocking, she pulled on the door handle and shuddered at the sudden transition from chilly air to fragrant warmth, the smell of something baking pervading the senses. 

“Hello?” Hermione called, already shedding her coat and walking through the empty space, even its quiet surprising her. 

“Back here!” Millie shouted, and Hermione headed that way, crossing the unspoken line between employees and customers and stepping into the back room. 

The room was encompassed by smooth stones set into the walls, the floor lined with stacked red brick. Along one wall was a set of double ovens, racks for cooling nestled beside shelves filled with supplies - syrup bottles, bags of coffee beans, flour, sugar - should she stand there and list them all, she’d be there all day. A sink was tucked into another corner underneath a little window, set beside the back door, and an ancient, abandoned fireplace stood dormant on its other wall. In the center of the room, standing at a large table, was Millie, who was sleepily munching on the remnants of breakfast. 

“Morning. Hungry?” she asked, lifting a plate of freshly baked muffins, giving a sleepy smile when Hermione claimed a blueberry one. 

Hermione knew the other witch to be a bright, cheery young woman who zipped around corners and did things quickly, which she often assumed had something to do with the rapid consumption of her caffeinated products. She was rather amused to see her sluggishly chew and stare absently into space, glad that the early hour wasn’t affecting just her. 

“You’re not always chipper, I see,” Hermione said with a grin, biting into the muffin with a deep seated sigh. 

“Comes with the trade - nobody will buy coffee from you if they see how tired you really are,” she answered with a laugh, sending her dirty plate to the sink. She glanced to one oven before hopping onto the table she’d stood at. “So - ” she slapped her thighs, mulling things over, “ - you won’t always start this early, but I figured it best to show you how to open things up.” 

Hermione nodded, chewing thoughtfully as she looked around before glancing at the muffin in her hand. It was still warm - she narrowed her gaze at it. “Did you bake this?” 

“I bake everything I sell here,” Millie answered simply, shrugging at Hermione’s wide eyed stare. “I do that on Sundays and Wednesday evenings, so I won’t ask you to - ”

“Millie, these are fantastic!” Hermione crowed, careful not to spew bits of muffin everywhere, startling the witch out of her groggy stupor. “I had no idea, I thought you only sold them!” 

“No,” Millie said, affronted, “Where did you think I got them from?  _ Pudifoot? _ The woman doesn’t know almond flour from rice flour, I would  _ never _ \- ”

“Millie - where did you find time to bake,  _ and _ go to university,  _ and _ run the cafe?” Hermione stressed, thinking through every baked good, mentioned course and hour of operation and wondering how the woman was still standing. And Neville had mentioned that she’d done it all, alone, since she’d graduated from Hogwarts. Her head was spinning.

“I dunno, I just  _ did _ ,” she answered, puzzled as to what Hermione was getting at, before glancing to her watch and leaping gracefully off of the table. “C’mon, let’s get the front ready before the rush comes in.” 

Hermione scarfed down the remains of the muffin, wiping her hands off on her jeans as she followed Millie back around to the front. She followed along as she watched Millie prepare the tray of baked goods for display, prepare the coffee beans and ready the espresso machine, stocking the various milks and creams - all the while conversing about anything ranging from the opening steps to the newest edition of Witch Weekly. 

“What’d you think of Ron’s wedding?” Hermione asked as she leaned against the counter and watched her count the till. 

“It was very nice - the cake was dry, but that’s just me,” she said teasingly, expertly setting aside money set to go to the bank, and ensuring that the till would have plenty of change for the day. “It was odd though, because I only went because of Neville, so I didn’t really know anyone there.” 

“How are things with Neville?” she asked again, watching as Millie stilled, and wincing when she thought that she’d messed up her mental calculation. 

Instead, Millie sighed and nodded her head from side to side, “Fine, I guess. It’s - well...we had our Ministry official visit us, already.”    
  


Hermione blinked, straightening up from her post, and furrowed her brow. “What?” 

“Yeah,” she said with a clipped tone, frowning herself as she scribbled down numbers in a little book. “They chided us on not sleeping in the same bed, so I had an awkward night last night. We don’t have enough pillows to set up a barrier, so it’s just diving into the deep end without any floats to - ”

“The Ministry official  _ knows _ ?” Hermione stressed, paling as Millie turned to blink at her. She’d thought that upon her arrival to 93 Diagon Alley that she would have time to mentally prepare herself before the Ministry and its law got truly involved, but now - 

“Yeah, when you get married they set these charms on your place to see if you’re sleeping in the same room,” she answered before scoffing and rolling her eyes, “Rubbish, if you ask me, and entirely uncomfortable and unnecessary, but - ”

“Millie,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose as a wave of calm came crashing around her, “You and Neville are  _ married already? _ ”

At this, she winced, biting the nail of her thumb anxiously, “Oh, I’m sorry, yes - we did it at the Ministry. It was mostly to spite his grandmother, honestly, but since I don’t have any family or friends then it hardly mattered, and I didn’t even think of what his friends would think about not being invited - ”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, reaching forward and grasping her shoulders to halt her nervous rambling. “I’m not mad,” she stated before smiling, “You just scared me, since I’m moving in with Fred at the end of the week, and I thought - ”

“Oh! No, Hermione, you have time - Neville and I have been married for over a month, and we’re just being incredibly stubborn,” she insisted, patting her hands with a smile. Hermione nodded, taking another deep breath as Millie squeezed her hands. 

Before Hermione could completely recover, the first customer opened the door and warmed themselves from the chill, and Millie dropped her hands and quickly got to work. 

“Good morning!”she called, dashing off to grab matching aprons and tossing one to Hermione, who quickly tugged it over her clothes and shoved her sleeves up to her elbows. 

“You got a helper!” the customer crowed with a grin, an older wizard wrapped in a warm looking turtleneck and scarf, his hands tucked under his arms as he looked to Hermione. “First day?” 

“Yes,” Hermione sheepishly answered, noticing that Millie had wrapped the apron strings around and tied them in the front, which she was quick to mimic. 

“Excellent - honored to be the first,” he said, and was patient as Millie showed her how to take his order and figure his pricing in the till, keeping up a commentary as they went slowly in the makings of his drink. 

By the time Hermione handed it to him, he was finishing up with his fourth year at Hogwarts. 

“You’ll do well, keep your head above water,” he said with a grin, holding his drink aloft in a salute as he exited. “Cheers, ladies!” 

“Bye,” Millie called, grinning at Hermione as she looked back at her in confusion. “The older ones like to talk, I’ve found.” 

Hermione laughed and nodded, and the two quickly found a rhythm that worked for them. Because it came easily and quickly to her, or could be shouted over the noise from the steaming wands when needed, Hermione stood guard at the till and took orders, watching as Millie flitted through the drink orders before setting them aside for Hermione to dish out to the appropriate customers. 

The rush came and went quickly, and Hermione was proud to see that she’d held her own against the barrage of comments, questions and orders in a sea of people that Millie had been quick to get out of the door. Once a peaceful moment came, Hermione released a sigh. 

“They’re mostly like clockwork,” Millie said with a nod to a clock on the far wall, which startled Hermione when she noticed that several hours had already ticked by. “I’ll let you do the next few, then give you a break.” 

Hermione nodded, turning to the chime of the door and grinning when she recognized those who stepped through it. 

Dean Thomas, who she’d seen at Ron’s wedding but hadn’t had a chance to speak to, bounced through the door and inhaled the cafe’s scents deeply. 

Neville Longbottom, however, yawned as he stepped through beside him. 

“Hermione!” Dean announced with a grin, stepping up to the till and wrapping an arm around her for a hug, despite the obstacle that the counter produced. “Thrilled to see you, how’ve you been?” 

Hermione laughed, patting his shoulder as she leaned into the hug, “I’ve been alright, how about yourself?” 

  
“Wonderful,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling as he leaned into the counter. “Got married right before this law was announced, so I’m on cloud nine.” 

“To Seamus?” she guessed, grinning wider when he beamed. “Congratulations - I’m happy you two weren’t dragged into this mess.” 

“Me too,” he said with a wink, stepping back to regard Millie as she went through the process of making a drink in silence. “Hello? Are we going to pretend that the dances we’ve shared meant  _ nothing? _ ”

She gave him a sassy glance and a slow smile before returning to her work, “Hello, Dean, lovely to see you again.” 

Neville, who’d passed by silently, stood at the far end of the counter to recline against, watching Dean’s interaction with a faint smile. 

“What’re you doing here, don’t you have classes?” Hermione asked with a confused smile. 

He shook his head, yawning again as he did so, leaving him incapable of speaking for a moment. 

“His classes start late on Wednesdays, not until noon,” Millie answered, placing a lid on the drink and sliding it over to Neville with a knowing grin. 

“Thanks,” he said, grinning to Hermione before pointing to Millie, “What she said.” 

“I dragged him here,” Dean said, looking to Hermione pointedly before glancing between Neville and Millie themselves. She caught on quickly, noticing that they seemed rather stiff with one another, and recalled that Millie had mentioned that the night previous had passed by awkwardly between them. She looked back to Dean, who was bouncing his brows as though that meant something, and she shot him a frown. 

“Are you going to order so I can practice?” she asked, smiling when Dean beamed. 

Dean placed his order, moving to the end of the counter beside Neville to watch as Millie hovered over Hermione’s shoulder to watch her work. His order was relatively simple, only requiring vanilla syrup as a flavor, but she was still trying to replicate Millie’s movements and ease with which she’d made each drink. 

“It’s not going to be perfect,” Millie said as she moved to lean against the counter near Neville and Dean, seemingly content to allow her to figure things out on her own. 

“I’d like it to be,” Dean muttered, although he was given a swift glare from the owner. 

Hermione tuned them out, focusing on the components needed to make the drink. She’d done the proper amount of syrup, having trouble with getting a proper press of the grounds before getting it into the espresso machine. While it was dripping sluggishly into the little measuring cup, she poured the milk into its pitcher and prepared to steam it. 

“So - heard you two were visited by the Ministry?” Dean began, and she heard Millie’s groan. 

“He was horrid,” Millie snorted, shooting a glance to Neville to find him in agreement before she settled her chin in his hand. 

“He kept making a pass at Millie, which was weird - ”

“ - and creepy - ”

“ - and creepy, because he was there to tell us to start sleeping in the same bed,” Neville finished with a scoff, rolling his eyes as he sipped at his drink. 

Hermione pulled the milk from the steaming wand, grimacing at the amount of foam that was in the pitcher, and looked worriedly to Millie once she neared her. 

“You’re fine - it’s just Dean,” she said, grinning at his offended noise. 

Hermione poured the milk into the cup with the syrup and espresso, placing the lid and a sleeve onto the cup before carrying it slowly over to Dean. She set it on the counter, watched him grab at it and sniff it, and glared when he mimed death. 

“Knock it off,” Neville said, jabbing his elbow into his friend’s ribs and rolling his eyes as Dean laughed at himself and took a sip. 

“Very nice!” Dean said with a smile, grinning at Hermione once she seemed to settle. “The best I’ve had yet.”

“She’s doing great for her first day,” Millie said, smiling at her new employee while she cleaned the steaming wand for her. “You can take a break now, if you’d like.” 

Hermione faltered. Her breaks at the Ministry were normally a quick jaunt around the hallways to stretch her legs, but she’d been stretching her legs all day. Neville must have sensed her dilemma, and straightened with his cup. 

“Want to run down to the apothecary with me? Madame Pomfrey wanted me to grab some things for her while I was out,” he offered, and Hermione nodded, untying her apron as he downed his drink. 

He smiled when Hermione rounded the corner and traded her apron for her coat, leading the way out of the cafe before depositing a handful of coins in the tip jar. She heard Millie’s affronted yelp, and was nearly about to turn before Neville grabbed her arm and hurried her out of the door. 

“What just happened?” Hermione asked once they were thrust into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, so unlike the quiet stillness that she’d departed from that morning. 

“Millie is against my payment, so I just place it in the tip jar,” he said with a shrug, leading the way down the street with his hands in his pockets. 

Hermione scoffed, shaking her head fondly as they walked, peering through the windows they passed to catch glimpses of someone else’s day to day. The young ladies at Madame Malkins’ were clustered together and laughing good naturedly at something, while the workers at Florean Fortescue’s were busy cleaning up a spill at the doorway and quieting a crying child. She and Neville walked on in silence, Hermione taking a reprieve from the hurried morning while Neville was no doubt thinking through something. 

She peered through the windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and caught sight of Fred leaning against the counter and scribbling in a large ledger, a furrowed brow darkening his face. 

She felt her heart lurch in her chest without explanation, and she was quick to find reason for it. She gathered that she was rather nervous to see him again, so soon after Ron’s wedding and so close to her impending move-in date. She was rather unsure what she would have to say to him once she did properly see him, as what was there to be said when their wedding was looming ever closer? “How d’you feel about pastels or dark colors for the wedding?” “Lemon or chocolate cake?” “D’you want one child or two, and do you feel that same impending doom as I do whenever I think about the future?” 

Neville must have noticed her gaze and faltered, nodding his head towards the shop, and quirked his brow, “Do you want to go in?” 

Hermione bit her lip and furrowed her brow, the nerves gathering anxiously in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?” She looked to him, although her feet continued in their pace, and Neville gave a grin. 

“Go on - I’ll come get you once I’m done at the apothecary,” he said, continuing on ahead as she stopped and turned around to head to the twins’ shop. 

She pulled open the door and hurried inside, feeling a gentle warmth upon entry and faintly smelling hints of vetiver as she walked further into the shop. It seemed that they were rather slow at this time of morning, as there were only one or two customers idly perusing the shelves. 

“Hello, welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Fred hollered, not looking up from his book. 

Hermione found a grin trying to escape, nearing the counter and tucking her arms over her chest, “My, we’re personable this morning.” 

At the sound of her voice, Fred lifted his head and grinned, tucking his quill behind his ear and leaning his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as well as he regarded her. “Well! She gets a job on the street and thinks she can tell me about customer service!” 

Hermione scoffed, nearing the counter and perusing the small items that were displayed there. Chapstick that was truly a gluestick, small popping fireworks, little candies that begged the buyer to trick their friends. “I said nothing about your customer service, if I recall,” she quipped, wrinkling her nose at breath spray that would make one’s breath smell like a mixture of dirty laundry and fish. 

“Ah, so you didn’t - my mistake,” he said, still grinning at her. “Seeing anything you like?” 

“Seeing plenty I don’t like,” she said, grabbing one and turning it around for him to see, “Ghastly Gumdrops?” 

“Makes people sound like banshees,” he said with a shrug, leaning across the counter to look at the displays alongside her. “You should try Freckled Fudge. It’s pretty self explanatory.” 

“I’ll pass,” she said, although she grabbed the small package to look it over anyway. “What’s the trick in giving someone freckles, anyway?” 

“Because freckles are unsightly and unattractive,” Fred said, his brow furrowed as though it were obvious. “Aren’t they?” he asked, his tone unsure all of a sudden. 

“You have freckles - your entire family has freckles,” she said with no small amount of amusement, “Do  _ you _ think they’re unsightly?”

Fred stared at her, coughed, and then plucked it from her hand to shove in the drawer behind the counter. “What’re you doing here, anyway?” he asked, ignoring her pointed grin as he placed his elbows against the counter and looked up at her. 

“I’m on break, thought I’d stop by,” she said with a shrug, not mentioning her hesitation over doing so. 

“How’s your first day going?” he asked politely. 

“Good,” she said, although she’d said it before she could come to the conclusion. “Long,” she said, grinning when Fred laughed. “Millie’s mentioned keeping me on for a while longer and then letting me off. I think we’ll go over closing procedures another day.” 

“Want to do dinner when you’re free?” he asked, straightening to grab his ledger and place it on a shelf behind him.

“Sure, what do you feel like?” she asked, turning when the door dinged and smiling when Neville strode in with no small amount of trepidation. She turned back to Fred and grinned when she saw that he was mulling it over. 

“Can we get sushi again?” he asked, beaming when she nodded. “Excellent - Neville! You never stop by!” 

“I’m not buying anything,” Neville said, much louder than necessary, although he was smiling as though it was some inside joke. “I’m heading back to the cafe, if you’re ready to go?” 

Hermione nodded, smiling at Fred as she turned to follow Neville out the door. “See you later, then.” 

“Bye, Granger,” he said with a wave, turning to pay attention to a customer that had neared to ask a question. 

When they returned to the street, Neville was eyeing her carefully. 

“What?” she rather snapped, giving him a harsh glare that didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. 

“Nothing,” he said, although he looked as though he were keeping something to himself. “So, you’re getting dinner with Fred later?” 

“Yes,” she grumbled, still glaring at him as they walked back to the cafe. 

“Do you two do that often, then?” 

Hermione huffed, feeling that she was the butt of the joke, and arched a brow at him, “How’s sharing a bed with Millie going, then?” 

At the mention, Neville seemed to clam up, his face going red as he glared at her in return. She grinned cheekily back at him, knowing that they had the type of friendship to take the mickey out of, and that if Neville wasn’t prepared to handle it then he shouldn’t have dished it out. 

“Noted,” he mumbled, and they continued on towards the cafe without further comment. 

When she returned to work, Millie seemed pleased with her progress, the two working together for a few hours more while Neville and Dean departed to get on with the remainder of their day. Hermione learned to drink her coffee quickly, before a small rush could occur and her drink would get cold, and to wash dishes at every available opportunity. While Millie had intended to send her off early, she’d wound up staying to help with an unexpected surplus of customers that had been eager to camp out. 

“Go now, before they decide they want refills,” Millie whispered, grabbing her coat and shoving it into her arms before grinning. “You did really well today, Hermione, thank you.” 

“Thank you for the job, you’ve no idea what it means to me,” she said, throwing on the coat and untying her apron beneath it. “What time do you want me here tomorrow?” 

“Come by at ten, and we’ll go over closing,” she said, sending her off with a wave. 

Once Hermione exited the shop, she felt the day catch up with her, with the ache in her legs that shot up to the length of her back. She rubbed at her neck with a groan, trudging along to the twins’ shop and painfully feeling every step that she took. 

When she entered the shop, George was manning the till, the same ledger from that morning in his grasp as he looked up to see who entered. He met her with a smile, lowering the hefty book as she neared. 

“Long day?” he asked in understanding, grinning when she braced her forearms against the counter to push her weight against, hoping to alleviate some of the pain in her lower extremities. 

“How’s your packing going?” she asked instead, smiling softly when he sighed. 

“It’s weird - I’ve never  _ not _ shared a space with Fred, but other than that it’s going well,” George said with a shrug. “And yours?” 

“I have too much stuff,” she said with a huff, smiling when George gave an agreeing groan. “Where’s Fred?” 

“Upstairs already,” he said with a wave of his hand, shooting her a concerning glance when she stood upright with a wince, as her tendons and muscles protested their treatment. “Please don’t hurt yourself on the premises - ”

“Shut it,” she said, snorting as he grinned and bypassing him to take the stairs, making sure to attempt to take them as normally as possible, lest she actually worry George. 

She knocked when she made it to the twins’ flat, opening the door when she heard Fred’s shout, stepping inside and heaving a tired sigh as she entered. 

“I went ahead and got food, because you were taking  _ forever _ ,” Fred said, already in the kitchen as he hunted for something hidden in the depths of the fridge. The takeout containers were already lined up on the counter, just as they had last time, and Hermione neared the stools with a faint smile. “I think I got most of the same things as last time, but if not then we’ll just have to be adventurous.” 

“Sounds good to me,” she said, seating herself and burying her head in her hands. Her hair smelled like coffee grounds, which one would imagine to be a pleasant aroma, but instead it reminded her of old coffee left out for too long, and the idea of being damp. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Fred must have found whatever it was he’d been looking for in the fridge, because she’d heard the door softly shut and something being set before her. “Long day, yeah?” he asked quietly, echoing the words of his twin downstairs. 

Hermione nodded, still trying to rub some of the aches and pains of the day away. “They aren’t all like this, right?” she asked, because as much as she enjoyed her first day at her new job, she wasn’t sure if this was something she could endure every day. 

“Highly doubtful, but if they are then feel free to come crawling back at any time,” Fred said, his tone light as he picked up the curtain of her hair and swiped it over her head, grinning when she looked up at him. “We’re forgiving overlords, George and I.” 

Hermione snorted, righting herself and grabbing the butterbeer that he’d set in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, before turning to the containers of food and popping one open. She peered inside, growing puzzled as she grabbed a set of chopsticks and poked through. “Is this eel or...?” 

“Shh - adventurous, remember?” he said, grabbing a piece of the roll and popping it into his mouth without hesitation, chewing thoughtfully as Hermione gauged his reaction. “If it’s horrible, you’ll never let me live this down, will you?” he asked around his mouthful of food, sighing heavily through his nose and looking heavenward as she grinned and shook her head. “I don’t  _ hate  _ it.” 

“You don’t like it, either,” she laughed, grabbing a piece of the roll herself and chewing carefully, wrinkling her nose at the texture more than anything. Carefully, she spit it back into the palm of her hand, ducking her head at Fred’s scolding. 

“Hermione Granger! If I ate it, then you can too,” he insisted, although he was laughing as she sought a napkin to place it in before putting it in the bin. “Alright, that one’s a bust - here, try this.” 

Dinner passed with a guessing game of ingredients, finding new rolls that would have to be considered next time and others that didn’t quite make the cut. Hermione found that despite her exhaustion, she was able to joke and laugh and poke fun at Fred just as easily as he was doing so with her. 

By the time George had closed the shop and arrived with his own meal, they were nearly finished with their dinner. Hermione stayed and chatted with the twins a while longer, mostly asking George how he was handling his impending departure while Fred picked up around them. As he’d mentioned earlier, it was strange to be moving to a new place that Fred wouldn’t be moving to as well, but figured that it wasn’t that big of a deal as they would still see each other daily due to the shop. 

“We’re thinking of having Percy help at the Hogsmeade shop, but we’re unsure how he’d take the suggestion,” Fred mentioned, looking to her from the other side of the counter as he sought guidance. 

Hermione mulled it over, unsure herself, and shrugged, “Best to just ask him - although, I can’t think of anything else that he has lined up.” 

The twins nodded, and eventually Hermione was saying goodnight and stepping through the Floo with a yawn. 

She entered her rather barren apartment, finding that it had grown dark outside, which had faded the dim lights that had sufficed for her in the morning. 

She didn’t bother brightening the lights any as she took a shower, successfully washing away the smell of coffee grounds, yet she’d darkened them all completely once she’d climbed into bed, heedless that it would be one of the last few nights she had in the space as she drifted off. 


	12. Let's Fall in Love for the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione moves in to 93 Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a small moment before we begin to thank you for the wonderful comments that you leave. Truth be told, it's been quite some time since I've had the pleasure of reading comments as they come in, and found that they're the highlight of my week. I hope to continue to entertain (and mildly impress if crossing my fingers has worked) each of you as we go on. Marriage Law fics have always been my guilty pleasure, but enjoy putting a spin on it now that inspiration has taken hold.
> 
> "Let's fall in love for the night/ And forget in the mornin'/ Play me a song that you like/ You can bet I'll know every line..." - FINNEAS, "Let's Fall in Love for the Night"

When Hermione had first moved into her flat, it was just after the war and just after she’d found her parents in Australia and begun to mend their relationship. She’d moved out of Grimmauld Place, where she’d lived with Harry for a bit before things got serious between him and Ginny, and had moved in with her clothes and a few borrowed pieces of furniture that Harry hadn’t wanted in the house anymore. She remembered sitting on the bare floor of her living room and eating instant noodles, simply because she could in the space that was fully hers. 

Now, she was standing in the middle of her bare living room, everything neatly boxed and packed away, and feeling like she’d just finished a book without really knowing how the author had intended it to end. 

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, leaning against the kitchen counter while Ron checked cabinets, drawers and cupboards to ensure that nothing had been left behind. They’d helped moved her in, and had offered to move her out. 

Hermione looked around, her eyes alighting on the phone still sitting upon the wall, doubting that it would ever ring for her again, before nodding and getting to work. 

Fred had been on his way out the door when the three had arrived, Ginny sitting atop the bartop counter and dully watching him hurriedly roll up his sleeves and gather his shoes, her head in her hands. He’d apologized, insisted that he was needed at the shop, and to feel free to move anything in order to make herself at home before dashing out the door. 

Ginny had taken his suggestion to heart, hopping off of the counter and getting to work, dragging Hermione by the wrist to Fred’s room and diving into his closet. 

“I don’t think he meant to go through his things, Ginny,” Hermione chided, looking around the space and feeling like she didn’t belong there. On one wall was an amalgamation of posters, paper scraps and clippings - he’d framed the small announcement from the Prophet that had declared that the joke shop was moving in, but everything else was held on by sticking charms or push pins. The top of the dresser was littered with other scraps of paper that had looked as though there was an attempt at tidying, and the bed had at least been made. 

It felt like another person’s belongings and space, likely because it was, and that she was an intruder. She was loath to move or touch things out of respect for his space, and there Ginny was - crouched in the floor with her upper body submerged in the closet, grabbing and tossing things seemingly at random.

“I can’t believe he kept this, this is old,” Ginny remarked, pulling out a large long sleeved shirt with a frown before holding it flush against her body and considering it. “You need space here, too - and if I don’t make you, you’re never going to do it.” 

Hermione frowned at the back of her head, although she kept a rebuttal to herself as she gingerly sat on the side of the bed and watched Ginny go through her brother’s closet, pulling out ancient trainers or clothes and lobbing them at the open doorway, which showed where Harry and Ron were unboxing a few of Hermione’s belongings. She’d sold her furniture, as she’d had no sentimental attachment to any of it, and had boxed up her dishes and sentimental items to store in the attic of Grimmauld Place. When she’d drag them out, she wasn’t sure, but it hardly mattered. She’d mainly brought over her clothes, toiletries, books and small collection of records. For some reason, she’d felt the need to take up as little space there as possible. 

So she let Ginny rifle through the closet, making space and then setting Hermione’s clothes to sort themselves into it, piling Fred’s things into the box that they’d vacated from before she tackled the dresser. Hermione watched the proceedings, feeling a little useless as she watched everything go on before her. Harry, who’d poked his head in to check on them, offered her a soft smile before nodding his head towards the living room. 

“Want to show us how you want your books? Ron’s afraid to get it wrong,” he said with a grin, waiting until she’d dragged herself off of the bed and into the living room. There, he’d sat beside her in front of a barren bookshelf, a box of her books between them. Ron, for some reason, was doing something in the kitchen, humming to himself as he worked. 

“Ginny said she spoke to Fred, and you can turn George’s old room into one for Teddy,” Harry said as they shelved her endless titles, complete with classic Muggle literature, magical theory, and a number of children’s books. Those, Harry placed closer to the floor, and the thought that Teddy would appreciate the gesture made her smile. It was the first smile of the day, and she felt even sadder for realizing that. 

Hermione hummed, gathering a number of ancient and heavy tomes into her hands before sitting up on her knees to place upon the shelf. “I feel like I should be...happier,” she said lamely, quiet enough that only Harry could hear her. 

Harry shrugged, righting a few books that had fallen on the shelf he was working on before shelving even more beside them. “Normally, when you’re moving in with someone, it’s by choice.” 

“Right,” Hermione said, although she wouldn’t really know. The only person she’d willingly moved in with had been Harry, and she’d been too stressed about other things to really take stock on her quick and quiet move. 

“Fred seemed worried too, if that helps,” he said quietly, shrugging at her curious sideways glance. “Gin and I stopped by before we went to your place. I think he’s trying to hide it, but Gin said she could tell.” 

Although it probably shouldn’t have, the new information did make her feel slightly better. She wasn’t the only one having to go through with the Marriage Law, she remembered, especially underneath her new roof. Fred alone was watching his twin move out and a near-stranger move in and transforming the space. George, who was busy working in the shop downstairs, was moving in with his twin’s ex-girlfriend and trying to repair a relationship that wasn’t even his. Millie and Neville couldn’t even take things at their own pace, and the barista had already recounted their brush with Ministry officials concerning the matter. 

Hermione rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache coming on and trying to keep it at bay. 

“My advice?” Harry said, pausing before he grabbed more books to move to a new shelf, looking at her over his glasses and giving a faint smile, “Just talk to him about it. Don’t try to handle things on your own. Think of you and Fred as a team.” 

“A team,” she snorted, rolling her eyes as she watched a particularly thick edition of William Shakespeare’s works fall over loudly on the shelf. “A team I didn’t audition for.” 

“You mean ‘try out’ for?” Harry asked with a teasing grin. 

“Whatever,” she grumbled. 

“It’s a sports analogy, Hermione, not - ”

Within an instant, Harry had gotten Hermione to banter and eventually laugh, shaking her head as he continued to tease and distract her while they continued to work to get the bookshelf full. 

“Lunch is ready!” Ron hollered, startling the two from their task as they turned to watch him slide steaming plates onto the bartop. 

“You were cooking?” Harry asked in confusion, standing and wincing when his limbs protested. 

Hermione stood and did the same, feeling as though she were standing on pins and needles once her feet got under her. 

“You can cook?” Ginny asked as she entered the living room, vaulting over the box of Fred’s things that she’d piled high. Seeing it made a spike of anxiety shoot through Hermione’s chest, as she felt that she would surely get blamed for it. The anxiety faded, however, when she recognized a bright pink skirt that had certainly been in her wardrobe and not Fred’s. 

“Is that my skirt?” Hermione asked, turning to dive into the depths of the box before Ginny grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the kitchen. 

“You’ll thank me later,” she said with a sniff, sitting her in a seat before grabbing a plate and sliding it in front of her. 

Hermione said nothing, but shot her a look that she hoped spoke volumes. In any case, Ginny seemed keen to ignore it, hopping onto the counter and setting the plate in her lap, Harry scoffing at her fondly. 

“Hermione, I meant to ask you - why did you bring a suitcase if all of your things are in boxes?” Ron asked, pointing at the small case that was resting against the wall, out of the way of the hustle and bustle that had been happening in the living room. 

“It’s a record player,” she explained, grinning at his confused stare that was identical to the one on Ginny’s face. Taking a quick bite, she stood and walked over to where the case sat, popping it open and displaying it for them before rifling through one of the boxes for her records. She set it on the coffee table, gently taking a record out of its sleeve and placing it in its proper position on the player. Within a few quiet moments, music began to play throughout the flat. 

She wandered back to where the other three were congregated, jumping back into her seat and taking another bite as conversation continued around her. 

Lunch was finished quickly, Ron doing the dishes at Ginny’s insistence, and everyone got back to work. Harry and Hermione filled the bookshelf to the brim, a few stacks set aside on the floor to be donated, and Ginny had scooted the box out of Fred’s room to set it by the door, glaring at Hermione whenever she glanced at it. 

Once it was beginning to turn to evening, Fred and George arrived at the door, each of them dropping onto the couch in tandem. 

“We need more employees that don’t have siblings that insist on getting married on a  _ Saturday _ ,” George groaned, rubbing his eyes as Fred tipped his head back and exhaled heavily. 

“There is no earthly way that you could have done that by yourself,” Fred said, looking to his twin before blinking and looking around at the space. Truthfully, they hadn’t done much, but each slight addition was a sign of Hermione, and it looked rather out of place in what had once been the twins’ flat. “Is that my stuff?” he asked, looking towards the box by the door. He seemed neither upset nor surprised - merely confused. 

“And Hermione’s,” Ginny said with glee, vaulting over the back of the couch and dropping into the seat beside him, “I went through both of your wardrobes.” 

“Makes sense - I see something white and lacy, and was going to have a very long conversation with Fred,” George said with a grin, Hermione gaping and marching over to the box to dig in. 

“This was my mother’s - Ginny!” she shouted, hands on her hips as she held the shawl in her grasp. 

“You never wear it!” she argued with a groan, tipping her head back and arching over the arm of the couch, “You could have much cuter things in your closet if you’d get rid of things you don’t wear!” 

“Hermione, are you really wanting to keep a shawl? Nobody wears shawls anymore,” Harry insisted with a pointed look. 

“I’m honestly confused on what a shawl is,” Ron said casually, stepping up behind the couch and grinning at George. 

Hermione huffed, holding it in front of her and deliberating. The guilt of parting with it sat with her, but she had plenty of other things concerning her parents to feel guilty about, so it made itself right at home. And she was already working on letting such things go - so she dropped it back atop the box and moved towards the armchair. 

“If my Quidditch jersey is in there, I’m going to murder you,” Fred vowed, glaring at his sister as she righted herself with a scoff. 

“Your numerous precious jerseys are in the bottom dresser drawer,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“How do you have multiple jerseys?” Harry asked, perching against the armchair that Hermione was in and gracelessly sliding into the seat beside her, grinning at her halfhearted glare. “I only have two - one from fifth year, and another from when I made captain.”

George and Fred shared a glance, and Ginny and Ron stared at the two in suspicion. 

“I saw some from Puddlemere, the Falcons and the Wasps,” she said, glaring at the wince that Fred was not quick enough to hide. “ _ With _ your name on them. F. Weasley - right on the back across the shoulders.” 

“People get their names on jerseys all of the time, Gin, you know that,” George insisted as Fred rubbed at his temples. 

“Kids, and overzealous fans like Ron,” she stated, ignoring her brother’s noise of complaint. “So why do you have so many from different teams? Wouldn’t you only get one that you’re a fan of?”

“But my Gryffindor one is in there, right?” he said, pointedly ignoring her question as he continued to rub the sides of his head. 

“Yes, your bloody - will you answer me?” she asked with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring petulantly at him. “Why do you have so many Quidditch jerseys?” 

“Alright, fine,” George said with a sigh, Fred whirling around to stare wide-eyed at him. “Fred and I had recruiters come after us before all of the mess with Umbridge in our final year began - we turned them all down, because we’d already decided on the shop after school, but they sent us plenty of things to try to convince us otherwise.” 

Hermione blinked in surprise, glancing at Harry to see that he was just as surprised as she was. It seemed that Ginny and Ron had had no idea either, as they took a moment of stunned silence before shouting over one another. 

“You could have been playing professional Quidditch this entire time, and never said anything to any of us?!” came Ginny’s cry. 

“You didn’t send any recruiters to see me!” shouted Ron. 

“We could’ve all been on the same team!”

“I’m your brother, and you didn’t even give me a chance!” 

“Oy!” Hermione shouted, crossing her arms over her chest as the four turned to stare at her, Harry laughing silently beside her, his grin struggling not to form out of the corner of her eye. “Does it matter? The twins have got the shop, are successful and enjoy it, Ginny’s got her own team that she loves, and Ron, you could have tried out for professional Quidditch at any point in time and decided not to.” 

“It’s the principal of it - ”

“We’re family and they - ”

“Stop,” she insisted, feeling vaguely like she was trying to talk to Teddy when he was in one of those grumpy, argumentative moods. “Are you upset that they got Quidditch recruiters after them, or are you upset that they didn’t tell you and your family about it?” 

Ron and Ginny were sullenly silent, Harry shaking from the effort of containing his laughter, and George was trying to hide his smile behind his hand. Fred, however, was grinning openly at her. 

“We’re not  _ upset _ ,” Ron muttered petulantly. She arched her brows and quirked a smile at his tone, and he cleared his throat and straightened importantly. “We  _ aren’t _ . Are we, Gin?” 

“No,” she gritted out, although she was glaring at the twins, George’s shoulders shaking as he also tried not to laugh as he glanced at her over Fred, who’d had the unlucky position of being in the middle of the two. “Stoppit - ”

“I’m not doing anything!” George said, although it was marred by a grin. 

“Hermione!” Ginny said accusingly, Hermione blinking in shock before laughing herself. 

“I’m not your mother!” she shouted in surprise, Harry finally bursting into laughter beside her, turning his head as though he could hide from his wife’s ire. George continued to laugh, likely because Ginny’s face was a bright, flaming red, and even Ron was grinning unseen from where he stood behind the couch. 

Fred, who was biting back a grin, stood and clapped his hands, “Alright, enough of that - who’s staying for dinner?” 

“Ron is, obviously,” Harry said, standing as well as he stretched and looked to his wife. “Gin? You alright with dinner here?” 

“Fine,” she said, although she was still maintaining the glare. 

Fred, unphased, ruffled her hair as he passed by and headed towards the kitchen. 

“I moved your things in there,” Ron said as he followed Fred to the kitchen, opening a cabinet for display where pots and pans fell and rolled out, clattering onto the floor, an action which seemed to surprise Ron. Harry, who’d stopped to look through the records, gave a startled laugh. 

“Looks nice,” Fred said as he looked down at the mess. 

“How’d moving go?” George asked gently, looking to Hermione as he shot her a knowing smile. “Everything fit alright?” 

“Yeah,” she said lamely, tucking her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around her chest, shrugging awkwardly. Truth be told, all of her belongings had fit into place fine, taking up the nooks and crannies and spaces that George had vacated - it was her that didn’t fit. She felt as though she stuck out like a sore thumb, sitting jarringly out of place in the flat above the shop. 

“Give it time,” he said quietly, standing to reach over and ruffle her mess of curls before heading to the kitchen with the other boys. 

The kitchen was reassembled and dinner was made, the Weasley siblings bickering and bantering back and forth in a way that looked like a practiced art form. The twins would gang up on one before rounding on the other, and after that had gotten old they’d annoy each other. Harry and Hermione wisely stayed out of it, sitting at the bar and watching the proceedings as though they were spectating a game of Quidditch - if Quidditch involved flying spatulas and arguing over the color of bell peppers. 

Mismatched chairs were added to the dining table, and everyone squeezed into the small space. Ron and Harry talked about their latest Auror case, Fred and George discussed the dramatics of their day at the shop, and Ginny gave a fascinating play by play of a complex Quidditch move that her and her teammates were attempting to execute, the boys giving their advice and thoughts on the matter as Hermione stayed quiet. 

Hermione pushed her food around her plate, separating each component from the other. Rice was designated to its own quadrant of the plate, peppers and chicken on the other. Once each had been neatly squared away, she mixed the contents back together again. 

“How’s your new job going, Hermione?” Fred asked casually, causing her to lift her head and stare at him quizzically. He knew very well how her new job was going, as she’d had dinner with him after her first day and had stopped by the joke shop on her breaks. 

“Oh yeah, how is that?” George chimed in, placing his chin in his hand and looking at her pointedly before glancing to her plate and then back. 

She huffed, shrugging as a small smile tugged at her lips, “It’s going well, thanks.” 

“How’s Millie?” Fred continued, grinning when she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Who’s Millie?” Ron asked around his mouthful of food, Harry glaring sullenly at him from across the cramped table. 

Hermione chose to steadfastly ignore Ron, both his comment as well as his poor table manners, and continued on to answer Fred’s question, “She’s doing well - her and Neville have already gotten a visit from their Ministry official, so - ”

Fred froze, color draining from his face, shocked as much as Hermione had been when she’d heard. He lowered his forkful of food, and the others paused in their own meals to glance between the two of them.

“They’ve been married for a month, so things are different for them,” she explained quickly, heat flooding her face as tension gently eased out of Fred’s face, although his eyes were still wide as he nodded and covered his mouth with his hand.

Harry and Ron quickly glanced to each other before turning back to her, their faces portraying their surprise. “Sorry - Neville’s already married?” Harry asked as Ron hurried to chew and swallow. 

“Yes - I was told it was to spite his grandmother, and Millie doesn’t have any friends or family, so - ”

“Wait, wait - “ Ginny interrupted, her brow furrowing as Fred and George glanced to each other in silence. “She doesn’t have anyone?” 

Hermione faltered, thinking through for any mention of someone from her employer’s personal life, yet came up empty handed. She shook her head, although she was watching as the Weasley side of the table collectively thought through something. “And apparently Neville has cut off contact with his gran - I don’t have all of the details yet, but I can only imagine that it’s for his best interest.” 

“Well,” Ginny said, leaning back in her chair and apparently deciding on something, “They need to come to the Burrow.” 

Fred, George and Ron all nodded, Harry watching in amusement, and it dawned on Hermione that - whether they liked it or not - Neville and his new wife were well underway to being honorary Weasleys. She stifled a laugh, biting the inside of her cheek as Ginny announced her intentions to stop by the cafe to meet Millie and possibly corner Neville, quietly pondering if such a decision had been announced when the Weasleys had laid an unspoken claim on Harry so long ago. 

Almost all too soon, dinner was finished and plates were cleaned, and the others were trying to find any excuse that they could to keep the awkwardness at bay. But Harry and Ginny had to retrieve Teddy from Andromeda, and Ron had to be getting back to Lavender, and then it was just Hermione with the twins. 

George himself seemed loath to leave, staring down at the countertop next to her and picking at something on its surface. Fred was watching him carefully, as though he were trying to find the right thing to say, and Hermione had the idea of pressing herself against the wall and hoping to be absorbed into it. She was tired of feeling like an intrusion upon other’s private lives and spaces, and that was all that the day was bringing her. 

“You can stay here, you know,” Fred said gently, startling George from his quiet reprieve. 

George smiled and shrugged, knocking his hip into Hermione’s as he wound an arm around her shoulders. “You two will have to figure out life without me as a buffer,” he said, grinning when Fred scoffed and winking down at Hermione. “No George-shaped crutch for you, either.” 

Hermione stared up at him, catching something behind his eyes that she didn’t think he meant for anyone to see, and reached up to grab the hand around her, “Are you alright?” 

The question seemed to startle him as much as it did Fred, as he faltered and blinked at her. “Err - m’fine,” he said before wincing and sighing, sagging in on himself. While he’d made the joke about himself being a crutch, Hermione felt as though she was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. “Angelina’s still moving out of her place, so the Hogsmeade flat is still empty, and…” 

“You can tell her,” Fred said quietly, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen as he watched them. 

He shrugged, staring at the linoleum tile instead of her, although he seemed to tug her further into his side, “Since the war, I get panicky if I don’t have eyes or ear on Fred. I’ll be fine, but - well, nightmares are a thing, and with the flat empty - ”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her ear against his chest as he easily loped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. She could only imagine how he felt about Fred’s temporary death - Harry himself had faked his, and she still had the occasional nightmare to that day. On particularly bad nights, she’d had to Floo to Grimmauld place and prod at him in his sleep or watch his chest for signs that he was breathing. Ginny, thankfully, was an understanding wife, and sometimes would sleepily shove her foot into Harry’s rib to properly wake him up for Hermione’s peace of mind.

“You can stay,” she murmured into his shirt, “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

George scoffed, shaking his head in the midst of the hair piled on top of her head, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at the action. “Your flat now - and you two do need to operate without the third wheel rolling around.” 

She tilted her head up to look at him, her brows furrowed as she thought. “Maybe we can develop a product that would help - like a bracelet that monitors the other's pulse, or a pin or something. You could tap it when you need something, too.”

George brightened considerably, pulling away to grin down at her properly, “I’m more of an earring man, myself, but that sounds like a great idea.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she took a step back to level him with her best pointed stare, her arms coming up to cross over her chest, “And if you have a nightmare, or a bad dream or even don’t like the way the Hogsmeade flat is, you’ll come straight over?” 

“Yes, I’ll come running straight over if I have issues,” he swore, grinning at Fred over her head before ruffling her hair once more. She wrinkled her nose again - she could only imagine how horrendous it was. “Well, I’m off - enjoy the awkward!”

“Thank you  _ so _ much,” Fred said, rolling his eyes as George departed through the Floo. 

All of the sudden, the two were alone, and Hermione had no idea what to say to him. She turned to regard him carefully, and found that he was at a loss as much as she was, the length of the kitchen between them. 

“Err - you moved in alright, yeah?” he said, wincing at his own question. “Need me to do anything?” 

Hermione shook her head, and he nodded in silence. She wracked her brain to think of something else to say to him, when he spoke again. 

“Ginny told you to take George’s old room for Teddy, right?” he asked. 

“Harry did, but yeah, thank you,” she said, “Millie’s given me a few days off this week, so I’ll probably work on it then.” 

“Nice,” he said with a half-hearted grin before it faltered. He rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly, turning to rifle through the cupboard beside him. “This is ridiculous.” 

Hermione furrowed her brows, watching as he grabbed two shot glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey before crossing the length of the kitchen and placing a glass in front of her and a glass in front of him before filling them up. 

“We are going to take these shots, and afterwards we’re going to speak plainly and above all  _ normally _ to each other,” he proposed, arching his brows as he picked up his glass as though to challenge her. 

Hermione regarded the amber liquid sloshing around as she picked up the glass to examine it. She nodded, waited for his signal, and quickly tossed the burning liquid back, grunting at the burn and pulling a face as Fred grimaced himself. 

“Alright, so - are you as freaked out about this as I am?” he asked, pausing before he refilled their glasses. 

“Yes,” Hermione sighed, hopping up onto the counter and making a noise to cut him off and keep him from pouring another double into her glass. “I feel horridly out of place.” 

“Why?” he asked, looking at her over the rim of the firewhiskey, the amber a few shades lighter than the color of his eyes. She felt that there was something to be said about the nature of firewhiskey as well as his propensity for crafting fireworks, but the liquor was already beginning to make the edges of her mind go fuzzy. She’d think of it later, she supposed.

She shrugged, gesturing around with her free hand as she reclaimed her glass, “It feels like I’m intruding - ”

“You aren’t,” he stated plainly, grinning when she shot him a doubtful look, “No, seriously, George and I have always kept an open door policy. A few years ago, our couch always had Lee or Katie Bell or someone on it. Now that everyone’s grown up and gotten lives, it happens less often, but the door is still open. Even if the Marriage Law wasn’t, y’know, a  _ thing _ , you’d always be welcome here.” 

Hermione hummed, looking into the shallow depth of her glass before tipping it back once more, pulling another face at the taste and burn of it as it traveled down the length of her chest, warming her from the inside out. “This tastes horrid,” she announced, setting it on the counter and placing her hands in her lap. 

Fred downed his second drink, placing the empty shot beside hers and making a sound in the back of his throat as he ran his tongue against the back of his teeth and grimaced, “Yes, it does.” 

Hermione’s brain felt like someone had wrapped it up in a fuzzy scarf, but she had yet to feel her thoughts trip or stumble, so she felt confident in continuing conversation. “Harry told me we had to treat each other like members on a team,” she stated simply, feeling like she was a bit on display when he looked up and studied her for a moment or two. 

“Did he?” he asked finally, a smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. “And what do we as a team think about that?” 

She grinned, crossing her ankles and swinging them out, “Easier said than done, but I think we can manage.” 

“Excellent!” he cheered, sending the dirty glasses to the sink with a wave of his wand and grabbing the neck of the bottle to walk it back to the cabinet, “I will soon race you to the bathroom to get this horrid taste out of my mouth, by the way.” 

Without preamble, Hermione jumped off of the counter and into the bathroom, scrubbing at her teeth with the pressure and speed that could only come from the daughter of dentists. She quickly righted her hair and left him the bathroom while she hunted for her pajamas in the bedroom, digging through the dresser and winding up hunting down long forgotten items that she was sure Ginny had thrown away. 

“Is there a reason we’re looking through dresses before bed?” Fred asked, standing in the doorway and watching as Hermione glared into the depths of the shared closet. 

“Ginny’s had it out for a particular dress that I would wear out to Muggle nightclubs, and I guarantee that she’s already gotten rid of it,” she explained, swiping through the hanging clothes as though they’d personally wronged her. 

“I’m sorry, back up - Muggle nightclubs,” he stated, staring at her plainly before arching his brows, “ _ You _ \- went to Muggle nightclubs?” 

  
“Yes?” she said, quirking a brow as she turned back to her clothes. “Nothing particularly scandalous, as it was mostly at Ginny’s insistence, but yeah.” 

“And, ahh, what does the dress that we’re searching for look like?” he asked, grinning when she shot him a curious look, “To aid my mental image of the situation.” 

“Ginny called it my ‘potato sack’ dress,” she scoffed, huffing irritably when she couldn’t find it. “It’s in that box, I just know it.” 

“A shame,” he said with no shortage of amusement, grabbing his pajamas from the dresser before tossing hers at her. It pelted her in the back before falling to the floor, and she glared at him as he passed. “I’ll get ready in the bathroom - shout when you’re decent, yeah?” 

Hermione huffed, glaring at the door as he shut it behind him. It was only after she’d donned her t-shirt and sweatpants, placed her clothes from the day into the laundry basket and shouted to allow Fred’s entry that fear gripped her - this was the part that she’d been dreading. 

Fred walked into the bedroom, moving around to the left side of the bed and grabbing the quilt. He spared her a dull glance, and in one swift motion he lobbed a pillow at her, smacking her directly in the face. 

“No awkward - we drank on it,” he said, grinning as she gaped at him, the pillow in her grasp. He cursed as she reared the pillow back and overhead, scrambling to grab the other, but it was on her side of the bed, and she’d already hit him a couple of times before he raised his hands over head, palms raised for optimal pleading. “Truce!” 

“Absolutely not,” she said, although she halted her attack and tossed the pillow towards its proper place. “You’re just lucky that I’ve got to get to the cafe early in the morning - I won’t forget this transgression, Fred Weasley.” 

He huffed a laugh, climbing under the blankets and tucking the pillow underneath his head as Hermione took off her earrings and set them on the dresser as she passed it. “Why are you going in tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Sunday - cafe’s closed on Sundays.” 

She shrugged, climbing under the blankets as well, squelching down the anxious and awkward feeling once it threatened to bubble up in her chest. “Well, Millie bakes everything on Sundays, and I want to learn to maybe give her a break.” 

“She bakes everything?” he asked, waving his wand and shutting the lights out before he turned to set it on the night stand beside him. Hermione tucked hers under her pillow, settling down in the bed. “I thought she bought it from someone.” 

“Oh, don’t let her hear you say that - she goes on a tirade about Madame Pudifoot’s,” she snorted with a grin, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Despite the blinds, the window that faced the backside of the alley allowed for a small amount of light to enter the room - she could just barely make out Fred’s outline. 

“It’s well deserved - Madame Pudifoot created a big stink about her cafe when she first opened,” he answered, nodding when he must have caught sight of her perplexed look. “Pudifoot is very old fashioned, and didn’t think that the coffee shop would suit Diagon Alley or the Wizarding world.” 

“Bitch,” Hermione whispered, smiling when Fred chuckled in the darkness at her. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Pudifoot wasn’t the only one, if I recall, though I think she was just mad that she hadn’t thought to put a location over here,” he mused, shrugging lightly and gently jostling the bed. “George and I had plenty of negative feedback when we first opened too - you would have thought that we’d called for Gambol and Japes’s foreclosure by announcing our opening day. They still don’t like us.” 

“You can have two joke shops on the same street, for Merlin’s sake,” she said with a sigh, “They’re rude anyway.” 

“Now what were you doing in another joke shop, Miss Granger?” he asked curiously. 

Hermione turned on her side, waving her hand over her shoulder as she faced the closet. “Go to sleep,” she ordered, ignoring his quiet laughter and shutting her eyes stubbornly. 

They’d sat in silence for a moment or two, and eventually Hermione felt her own breath turn quiet around the same time that she heard Fred’s breathing dip. 

She’d begun to drift off, skimming the surface of proper sleep, time becoming meaningless to her, when she heard a low  _ thump _ coming from the other side of the wall. She peeked her eyes open blearily before they quickly fluttered shut, already convinced that it was a sound that she’d merely dreamt before it happened again. She paused, shifting to peer at the small numbers on her watchface, and frowned when she began to hear muffled voices. She’d dozed for a few hours it seemed, as it was now two in the morning. 

“No,” Fred groaned lowly, shifting the bed as he turned over to face Hermione, his eyes resolutely shut as his arms crossed over his chest, whereas Hermione sat up and looked around. “Please, Merlin, not tonight.” 

“What is that?” she asked quietly, listening carefully. She could make out neither tone or what was being said, but whatever was being said was being said loudly. There were two voices, neither distinct, but it seemed that they were having some sort of conversation. 

“The O’Tooles,” he answered with a sigh, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “Older couple. They have the flat next door, above the magical instrument shop. They do this every so often.” 

Hermione hummed, acknowledging that she heard him as she listened in, grimacing as she heard another  _ thump _ and the voices again, “Are they fighting, or…?” 

“That’s the thing - I’ve no earthly idea,” he whispered with mounting horror, Hermione biting back a laugh as she laid down on her side and tried to listen in properly. “It haunts me, Hermione, you can only imagine the things I’ve heard with no idea as to what they truly were. I’m not sure I want to know. I may be scarred for life if I receive answers.” 

She pressed a hand to her mouth, covering her grin as she placed her head back on the pillow. Things had gotten quiet for a moment, so she snuggled back into the blankets and sheets. “It seems it’s over.” 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” he muttered bitterly, turning on his side to completely face her, arching his brows as the voices resumed once more. “Wait for it,” he said, jutting an arm out through the spokes of his wireframe headboard towards the wall, hand out and waiting. Hermione blinked at him in confusion, the outline of his face looking calculating in the dark as he listened, until there was an almighty rattle of the wall, and a picture frame that had been hung on its surface slid down and into his waiting hand. 

“You’re joking,” she said with mounting horror as he turned to place the frame on his nightstand. “What about a silencing charm?” 

“Cuts out the noise, but does nothing for the - oh, stop it,” he said, cutting off as another rattle shook the wall, and he’d had to right the picture frame as it threatened to bounce off of the nightstand. He grabbed his wand and cast the charm, and although the voices ceased, the thumps and rattling did continue. 

Hermione laid in bed and waited, finding that Fred was doing the same as he stared at her. Slowly, he began to grin, and Hermione found that she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. 

“How long does it last for?” she asked, propping her head up on one hand to regard him in the darkness. 

She saw his silhouette shrug as he did the same, “Depends - sometimes not long at all, sometimes til morning.” 

They talked quietly in the night, about things that didn’t matter and that didn’t distract from the quiet tiredness that slowly seeped into the both of them. By the time the thumping and rattling had ceased, it’d been a handful of hours of soft conversation that had seen them dozing off towards the end of it. Hermione, despite her best intentions, had wound up sleeping in past the quiet buzzing of her watch’s alarm. 

“Wassat?” Fred murmured sleepily as she grumbled and turned it off, his eyes still closed. 

“Alarm,” she muttered before curling back up against her pillow, hearing his lazy hum before they both drifted back to sleep. 

When they awoke properly, it was past ten, and Hermione was glaring at the sunlight streaming in from the blinds. Fred, wisely, had pulled his pillow over his head and was grumbling into the mattress. 

“Tell me that’s not every night,” she muttered, swiping her hand over her aching eyes and willing the dull ache in her temples to subside. 

“It’s not,” he muffled underneath the pillow before picking it up and ruffling through his wild bedhead, sitting up on his elbows, “But that doesn’t help on the nights where it does.” 

Hermione huffed a laugh, standing to get ready for her day, as she still intended to aid Millie at least somewhat at the cafe with what time she had left before she and Fred were both expected at the Burrow alongside the other Weasley children. 

“I’ll stay here and hold down the fort!” he called, his head already tucked underneath the pillow once more as Hermione gathered her shoes and wand and exited the flat with a scoff at his antics. 

She paused on the steps that dived into the darkened joke shop, feeling as though she’d undertaken a gargantuan task only to discover that it hadn’t been the daunting thing she’d expected of it. 

She hummed, taking the steps two at a time as she hurried to thrust her proper friendship onto her employer. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could drag Millie to the Burrow for dinner before she realized that her adoption was underway.


	13. Imagine Being Loved by Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A half day where painting is done, music is heard, and sandwiches are eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is relatively short, as it was just a small snippet in my brain that wouldn't dislodge until it's completion, so I feel confident in posting it so soon after the last chapter. Also, if you enjoy reading far too much into things, then you'll particularly enjoy this - but perhaps after the fact. 
> 
> Also, I disregard timelines on the regular, so Hermione is a big Hozier fan. You can't convince me that that man isn't a magical being that decided to release music in the Muggle world anyway.

Living with Fred, so far, had been extraordinarily easy. It could be argued that they both woke early for work, and most days Hermione came back to an empty flat where Fred would trudge in hours later, both too tired to do much other than ask about the other’s day and then go quickly to bed. 

But now it was Hermione’s day off, and she’d woken up hours after Fred had left for work, surprised that she hadn’t been disturbed when he’d left the bed. She’d puttered around, taken a shower and cleaned up a bit before tackling Teddy’s room. 

It wasn’t that George had left it in complete disarray - on the contrary, he’d left it rather spotless, it was just that Hermione felt it was ill suited for a little boy in its current state. So, she’d skipped down to Muggle London and bought a can of paint and appropriate supplies, set up her record player in the middle of the bare room, and got to work. 

There were plenty of household spells that would quickly change the color of the paint with a wave of her wand, but there was something almost therapeutic about each pass of the brush and seeing the soft, baby blue swipe away the darker mustard color underneath. With each stroke, more and more of the room seemed to open up, and the air from the open window brought a welcome cool. 

Hermione stood in the middle of the room, next to her record player and looking around for any spots to touch up. She winced, as the mustard color appeared determined to show through, and she regarded the paint can with a frown as she deliberated buying another, as it would definitely need more coats in order to fully pass over the room. Otherwise, she was pleased with her progress.

“Is that song about sex?” a voice called from the doorway, and Hermione whirled around to see Fred, casually reclined against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a slow moving grin crossing his face. 

“No,” she insisted hotly, although she felt her face aflame regardless. 

Fred glanced to her, and then stared pointedly at the record player by her feet. A slow beat was thumping against the floorboards, and a man’s soft yet earnest voice was heard faintly, as she hadn’t had it playing very loud before he arrived. 

“ _ I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things that we'd do. So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you’ll find out how I'm imagining you _ ,” came the disembodied voice, almost traitorously. 

“It’s about love, and Orpheus and Eurydice and - why are you here?” she asked, quick to change the subject as he strode into the room, stooping down to pluck the album sleeve from the floor and glance over it. 

“Half day,” he answered, holding up the album to see the man, with his long hair and translucent white shirt, perched in a chair while flowing underwater. “He’s an attractive bloke, isn’t he?” 

She lurched to grab the sleeve from him, feeling her face burning brighter, glaring at his cheeky grin as he held it aloft. “It’s Thursday - your half days are on Tuesdays,” she argued. 

“Normally, yes, but George and I swapped halfway through the week last week to give him time to move out,” he stated simply, flipping the sleeve over to view the back. He hummed as he appraised the list of song names, Hermione frowning up at him before she turned to toe the arm of the player up and halt the music, careful of the paint along her hands and arms. “No no no - I didn’t say that I didn’t like it,” he chided, quick to gently kick her foot out of the way with a grin. “What other songs are on the sex album?”

“It’s not a sex album,” she groaned, rubbing her face without care of dirtying it. “It’s just - about things. Various things. About life.” 

“‘ _ Wasteland, Baby _ ’ - strange name for a sex album,” he continued on, the corners of his mouth attempting to stay put as he regarded the album cover once more. 

Hermione huffed at him, placing her hands on her hips as she stared at him. Rolling her eyes as she quickly realized that he was trying to get a reaction from her, she bent back down to grab the paint brush and move back to the walls. “There’s worse ones on there than that one, anyway,” she said, pausing to glance over her shoulder at him as he looked at her blankly. It seemed that she’d flipped the script and had thrown him off. She grinned, turning back to her work, “Some are about sex, yes.  _ Be _ , the next song, is pretty straight forward about it.” 

“Knew it,” he whispered proudly, setting the album aside and placing his hands in his pockets as he walked towards her. “How’s it going?” 

She shrugged, although frowning as she attempted to blot out a stubborn bit of the mustard color. “Alright,” she answered, grumbling in frustration as the paint refused to cooperate. 

“Think he patched up a hole there, from a rogue firework,” Fred commented, appearing over her shoulder, disregarding the wet paint and poking at the spot. “Yeah - that’s a bit of spellwork, that’s why the paint isn’t sticking.” 

Hermione sighed heavily, glaring at the spot as though it’d personally offended her, when Fred took to picking at it some more before dislodging the spell completely, a small charred divet in the plaster appearing where the spot had once been. With a wave of his hand, Fred replaced it with a color matching the new paint on the walls, and it disappeared once more to blend seamlessly into its surroundings. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling at him because she meant it, and she caught him almost studying her. The look on his face quickly passed, so she didn’t give it much thought, distracted instead by the quick and easy grin that took hold in its stead. “So, what are you up to today?” 

“Nothing, honestly, thought I’d come up and help you a bit,” he said, already rolling up his shirt sleeves and heading towards the paint supplies, “That alright?” 

It was alright, and they passed time in relative silence aside from the music coming from the record, and Fred’s commentary on the songs and their meanings, where he begrudgingly admitted that they weren’t all about sex but that it was far funnier to consider it. 

As the day passed on, the light shifted in the room, and the paint dried while they readied other things for Teddy. Fred managed to make a bed that was toddler-sized while Hermione unpacked and put away the little boy’s toys, and by the time the sun was setting the room was mostly completed aside from a few odds and ends that could wait. 

“Thank you for your help,” she said, crouched low and putting all of the brushes, rags and other things inside the empty paint can. 

Fred shrugged, wiping his hands off on his pants and crouching down to pull the record off of the player and place it back in its sleeve before closing it. He stood, waving his wand to send the player back into the living room, and looked around the room with a quiet smile. 

Hermione regarded him, glancing up at him once she thought he wouldn’t notice. He seemed at ease, despite spending the last hour in silence, and he was now admiring the new wall color and the view from outside the window. “Everything alright?” she asked as she stood, the paint can digging into her hip as she cradled it, tilting her head when he turned to look at her quizzically, “You’re quiet.” 

“Am I?” he asked with a quirk of his mouth, shrugging easily, “Does that bother you?” 

She mulled it over and quickly decided that it didn’t. She shook her head, turning on her heel and heading into the kitchen to wash everything as she spoke, “Just wanted to check in. What do you feel like for dinner?” 

“I don’t feel like cooking, I’ll tell you that - want me to just pick something up from the Leaky?” 

Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat, staring hard into the water that turned a pale blue, before stating, “That’s fine.” 

“No, it isn’t,” he said, sounding much closer behind her than before, and when she turned to look over her shoulder she found him leaning against the cabinets and studying her. “What’s wrong with the Leaky?” he questioned. 

She sighed, tilting her head up to stare at the ceiling, “It’s nothing.” 

“Hermione - ”

“I don’t like Hannah Abbott,” she replied, startling a laugh out of him as she winced into the murky water. “She implied some rather choice things about my friendship with Neville whenever they broke up, and somehow those same ideas anonymously made it into the Prophet, and I’d had to sit through a meeting at the Ministry about how I was expected to ‘maintain propriety at all times, even during my personal hours.’ So, yeah, I’m not a fan.” 

“You’re joking,” he said, his jaw dropped open when she glanced to him with a slight grin at his horrified expression. “I had no idea, I promise - she’s not getting our business a moment more, I can tell you that much.” 

“It’s fine, honestly - I’m just afraid she’ll spit in my food or something,” she shrugged, leaving the brushes to soak in the water for a while longer. She swiped at her forehead, beginning to feel the flecks of paint crack against the skin of her face, and winced. “I’ll let you figure out dinner, I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Yeah,” he said distractedly, nodding absently as she passed into the bathroom. 

By the time she’d stood in front of the mirror and finished scrubbing the paint off of her face, she heard the door open and shut, and tried to ignore the vague worried feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Once she stepped from the shower and redressed, she’d grabbed a book and made it to the couch before Fred walked back in with a bag of food. 

“So - don’t get mad,” he began as he set a takeout container into her hands, grinning unabashedly at her glare before he sat down beside her. 

“What did you do?” she said with a sigh, rubbing between her eyes as she felt a headache coming on. She popped open the container, expecting to see something from the Leaky Cauldron that would have signified that he’d been down there to chat with Hannah. Instead, she found a sandwich and a small cup of soup that looked delicious, but unlike anything that was from their menu. “This isn’t from the Leaky,” she said accusingly. 

“I told you - she’s not getting more business from me,” he insisted, settling down beside her and taking a bite of his sandwich, appraising it thoughtfully and chewing while Hermione stared quietly at him. “That’s off-putting, you know.” 

“Why would I be mad at you?” she asked, ignoring his lopsided grin. 

“Because - this is from Muggle London,” he said with a shrug, taking another bite, “And I may have walked through the Leaky to get it.” 

She sighed noisily, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for him to elaborate. 

“Your food’s getting cold,” he muttered, chuckling when he glanced again at her sour expression. “Alright - you take all the fun out of a setup, Merlin.” 

“What did you do to poor Hannah?” she insisted. 

“She’s not  _ poor Hannah _ if she called you, and I quote - ‘a slag who’s only good at laying on her back’ - yeah, I remembered that one, just didn’t know who said it,” he said, pausing to see if she had any input before he continued on, inspecting his sandwich as an excuse to avoid her gaze. “And I didn’t  _ do _ anything to her. But the Leaky Cauldron will be closed tomorrow, because it seemed that someone had left a dozen or so dung bombs waiting to go off behind a booth in the corner that everybody knows they never check or clean.”

Hermione stared hard at him, watching a flush creep up from his neck as he stubbornly avoided looking at her. She bit back a smile, feeling oddly comforted by the gesture. Hannah Abbott would likely never know who had left the dung bombs in the corner, as her customers of the day would be at the forefront of her mind, and Fred had only been passing through. But Hermione knew what Fred had done, and why he’d done it, and for some reason that lodged a faint warmth in her chest.

She settled into the couch, took a bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s a good sandwich,” she said, fighting back the grin as she caught the whirl of his head out of the corner of her eye. 

  
  


Per Andromeda’s instructions, she’d sought to learn new things about Fred within a month of living with him. This wasn’t necessarily new information, as she’d always known that Fred was fiercely protective of those that he cared about. What was new information, however, was that Hermione was considered to be one of those people. 

She could unpack what that meant and how she felt about it later, she decided. Right now, it was just a very good sandwich. 

“There’s crisps, too, hold on,” he said, reaching back into the bag to pass them towards her with a grin as they didn’t speak about Hannah Abbott or the Leaky Cauldron ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do / So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imagining you..."_ \- Hozier, _"Talk"_


	14. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstorms, nightmares, and champagne and salmon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it midterm season? Yes. Have I been working on the 3-5 page paper or the midterm quiz that are both due this Monday? No. Have I been working on this instead? Perhaps. (Definitely.) 
> 
> Wish me luck, take care of yourselves, and I'll see you all soon. XOXO
> 
> Slight TW: mild descriptions of a panic attack. Unsure if this is necessary, but very sure that it's better safe than sorry.
> 
>  _"I'd like for you and I to go romancing/ Say the word, your wish is my command..."_ \- Queen, _"Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy"_

Hermione awoke suddenly, to a flash of brilliant white light illuminating the room, casting dark, lengthy shadows against the walls before it was doused in darkness, just as fast as the light had come. Thunder rattled the walls and boomed loud in her ears, and without warning she’d lurched up and out of bed before her mind could fully wake up. Wand at the ready, although without a proper target to point at in the gloomy dark. In the back of her mind, she heard echoes of a high pitched cackle, and the scar along her arm burned as though it’d just been put there. 

“Hermione?” a new voice whispered, and her heart lurched wildly in fear before recognition crept in. 

Embarrassment rushed in, hot and heavy, and warred with the lingering fear, and she’d bolted from the room and to the bathroom before Fred could get out a proper “Lumos.” 

The lights weren’t working - of course they weren’t. And she’d already shut herself in an even smaller, dark place. 

Shaky hands found the side of the sink, then the faucet, then the tap. 

Later, she’d be wondering why she hadn’t just cast a Lumos. Currently, light would indicate her location, and although logically she knew it was just Fred, it still - it was still there, in the back of her mind. The darkness only worsened it - she could only see glints off of an enchanted dagger, blood ribboning against her arm, dark, matted ringlets hanging overhead. 

The cool water rushed over her wrists, and she sunk to the floor with a quiet sob, her arms braced to hang over the basin to let the water run over her fingertips and against her palms. 

She knew, realistically, that it was a nightmare. 

Light crept in under the door, and the knob slowly turned before the door opened itself, Fred standing on the other side of it. 

In her panic, she hadn’t even locked the door. 

“Hey,” he whispered, already crouching down into the floor beside her, setting his wand on the floor away from him. Coming in at her level and immediately disarming himself. “You’re alright, Hermione, it’s just me - ”

War over, battle gone, Fred. Marriage Law, twin’s flat, Fred. 

“Easy, deep breaths,” he coached, creeping closer to her, an arm wrapping around her shoulders and another hand turning off the flow of water. Hermione could feel herself shaking, and her breath coming in short, quick gasps. “Breathe, Hermione, please,” he insisted, taking her freezing hands into his other palm and bringing her altogether into his chest. 

Restriction, in any sense, may not have been the best idea, but the way that Fred was doing it made sense - it was a loose, protective hold, and she knew that she could break out of it in an instant if she needed to. Done more to comfort and warm than to control, and she realized that somehow. 

Shakily, she inhaled, although it came out in a puff and a wracked sob. 

“S-sorry, s-sorry,” she stammered, although he only shushed her. 

“You’re alright, just breathe,” he said again. 

Hermione inhaled, let it out slow, and pressed her head against his chest as another cry shook her. How weak, how pathetic - a thunderstorm and a nightmare sending her into hysterics, and - 

“That was good, can you do another?”

Inhale, slow exhale - how the hell had she managed to get through a war without - 

“Another, please?” 

Inhale, slow exhale - she knew better, the war had been over for ages, why couldn’t she just - 

“Breathe in,” he coached, and she did it, holding it in place until he spoke again. “Breathe out? Excellent.” 

Hermione sagged against him with a boneless quality, squeezing her eyes shut against the dim light cast against the tile floor. Embarrassment resurfaced, hot and heavy behind her eyelids, but she was too exhausted to move from his grasp. She dimly registered that the arm around her shoulders curled around her, pulling her in closer, and his other hand shifted. She opened her eyes, and saw her fingers were bright red, warmth attempting to return as Fred grasped them. 

“Sorry,” she muffled again, feeling the tips of her ears go hot. 

“None of that,” he insisted, and she felt him place his chin against her head. “Want to talk about it?” 

Hermione huffed, angrily, against his collarbone, and she felt more so than heard his light laughter. “It’s stupid,” she claimed. 

“Nonsense - if it rattled you that badly, then it can’t be stupid,” he said, shifting again so that his long legs splayed out on either side of her, knocking his wand sideways. 

She stayed quiet for a moment or two, mulling the idea over, and in that time he must have thought that she fell asleep against him, for he tipped his head and gently tilted hers back, before giving a soft, lopsided smile at finding her awake. She sighed, too tired now to worry about coming across as anything resembling brave or strong, especially not when he’d pulled her out of the depths on the bathroom floor. 

“It’s - well...,” she started lamely, and Fred nodded encouragingly. “I haven’t had a nightmare in ages, so I didn’t think...it’s all rather silly, really.” 

“Hardly - you’ve been under a lot of stress, and now you’re in a strange place on top of it,” he said with a shrug, accidentally knocking against her shoulder, but the action seemed to ground her even more. He was quiet for a moment more, before his gaze found hers again. “Err - if you’d like to tell me more about it?” 

She blinked, and shifted back, staring hard at his face. “You don’t know, do you?” 

“Haven’t the foggiest, actually, which can remain that way if you prefer but - ”

Hermione hummed, staring down at her hands, noticing that they were beginning to go towards a faint pink, as opposed to the smarting red that they’d been moments before. “I...well, during the war, at Malfoy Manor…” 

And, in a very long time, Hermione told him about what she’d experienced at Malfoy Manor. What Bellatrix had done to her, the aftershocks of pain that had rocked her for nearly months afterwards, the horrid nightmares and the scar that wouldn’t go away. How she’d coped with it in the beginning with dreamless sleep potions that slowly lost their grip, and how she’d learned to deal with the aftermath that followed the insistent nightmares. 

“It’s been a long time, nearly a year and a half since I’ve had one, but - I think you’re right, that everything and the new place - not that I don’t appreciate you letting me stay here and all but - ” It was here that Hermione realized that he’d stayed perfectly still and silent, a moment before his arms came up and around her, and he buried her into a hug that felt much more solid that anything had in a while. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he muffled into her shoulder, beside her ear, and her arms came up awkwardly around him. “I had no idea - ”

“Not many people do, it’s alright,” she said, almost as a reflex. 

“Who all knows?” 

She thought, quietly, and realized that while Harry and Ron had been there, they didn’t know the full extent. Ginny knew that something horrid had happened, and she’d seen the scar, but the details were still lost on her. 

“To the extent that you know?” she felt him nod. “Just me and you, now.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered, his arms pressing in a bit firmer, “I know how hard that is.” 

Hermione hummed, remembering the small admittance of enclosed spaces doing him in, and nodded against his shoulder. “If, well, if you ever - I’ll return the sentiment, is what I’m saying.” 

Fred huffed a laugh, likely at her awkwardness, but pulled away to shake his head, the shadows from his wand deforming his resemblance altogether. “Not about me, tonight. You sure you’re alright? Take stock - tell me what’s going on.” 

She did - she was exhausted to the core, her muscles ached as though she’d run a marathon, and she felt rather cold and clammy. 

“I’m fine, I think - a bit wiped, but - ” she shrugged, and Fred nodded as he reclaimed his wand. He placed it in her hands before standing, taking her wrists and pulling her up alongside him. 

“Back to bed, then,” he insisted, gently nudging her along the way, not stopping until she’d already reclaimed her side of the bed and tried to pass his wand back into his grasp. He took it, cast a few muffling charms against the window, but ultimately passed it back to her. “Hold on to it for me, if you don’t mind?” 

Confused but too addled to think properly, she nodded, settling down against the pillow and placing his wand between them as the Lumos dulled and faded. Fred laid on the other side, his breath steady in the darkness, which mingled and combined with the soft pattering of rain against the rooftops. 

Within moments, Hermione was asleep again. 

When she awoke, light was streaming in, and voices sounded out in the living room beyond the door. She could pick out Ginny, rallying against something, and Teddy’s tiny voice eagerly chiming in beside her. She could hear Lavender's laugh, and Fleur’s soft French and Victoire’s quiet babbles. 

Her brain still muddled, she shifted onto her side, finding Fred gone but his wand still in place beside her. 

She pocketed it in her pajama pants, striding out into the living room with her own wand in her hair, smiling as Teddy rushed to greet her. 

“Good morning, Beauty Sleeper,” Ginny mocked, although she was grinning broadly at her. 

“Sleeping Beauty,” Lavender corrected with a small smile, standing over the stove and expertly flipping a pancake. “Hi, Hermione, hope you’re hungry.” 

She crouched down to tug Teddy up against her hip, hugging him tightly. 

“G’morning, Aunty!” he said, clasping her just as tight, heedless to how she pressed her face into his hair and breathed him in, grounding herself once more. 

“Good morning, sweetheart - did you sleep well?” she asked, mostly out of habit. 

“Aunt Lav-in-durr is making pancakes,” he said, as though that would make up for everything wrong in the world. 

“Did you sleep well, ma petite?” Fleur asked, concern crossing her face as she picked up Hermione’s chin to study her face sharply, her daughter pressed to one shoulder. “You ‘ave dark shadows.” 

“I’m fine, the storm just woke me up,” she answered smoothly, smiling at the other woman as Teddy squirmed to be set down. She did so, grinning when he ran straight to his books on the bookshelf. “What’s everyone doing here, anyway?” 

“Wedding planning - don’t tell me you forgot,” Lavender stated with a frown, sighing as a grimace crossed Hermione’s face. “No matter - take a shower, breakfast will be ready when you’re out, then we can get started.” 

Ginny pulled a face at the order, but Hermione bit back a laugh as she did as she was told, grabbing jeans and a light sweater before making her way back into the bathroom. With the door shut and the light on, it looked like an entirely different space than where she’d broken down the night before. She regarded her face in the mirror, taking note of the dark circles that Fleur had mentioned, but appreciated that their appearance had hidden her red-rimmed eyes. 

She showered and dressed quickly, but marched over to the door with a quick call that she’d be right back. She took the steps quickly, Fred’s wand already in her hand by the time that she made it to the shop, glad to see it was busy as ever as she wound her way to the register as a starting point. She found Fred there, thankfully, and slipped up to his side just as he was finishing with a customer. 

“Hey,” he said in surprise, his eyes tracking over her face for signs of distress, “Is everything alright - ?”

She placed the wand in his grasp, hidden from others beneath the counter, and gave a bright smile. “Yup! Thank you, see you after work.” 

“Ahh - ” she seemed to have thrown him off, but he matched the smile and watched her go, “Yeah, see you.” 

She turned back around, retaking the steps just as quickly as she’d slipped down them, shutting the flat door behind her just in time to see everyone seated at the small table. 

Ginny tracked her face carefully, looking for something, but Hermione only shook her head and took a seat beside Fleur, Teddy already climbing up into her lap. The redhead hummed, but said nothing, and took a seat beside her with a small smile. 

“Now, I think it best to figure out decorations and clothing together, and everything else after the fact,” Lavender said as she took a seat, “Which, obviously, leaves us figuring out the wedding parties.” 

Ginny groaned, her fork halfway through cutting a bit of pancake off, “I thought you said  _ after _ breakfast, Lav, c’mon.” 

Hermione prodded a bit of pancake into Teddy’s mouth, and then her own. They were sweet, hints of cinnamon and vanilla mingling with the maple syrup. She took another bite, and grinned when Teddy grunted in protest.

“Well, George is clearly going to be ze best man,” Fleur interjected, settling Victoire in a little high chair that she’d conjured. “But, Hermione must decide her best person.” 

Hermione paused, a forkful of pancake halfway to her mouth, and glanced to Ginny, who was staring at her as though she may bore holes into the side of her head with mindpower alone. 

“I’ll fight my own husband for it, Hermione,” she insisted, grinning when the brunette laughed. “All I’d have to do is break his glasses, and then he’s at my mercy.” 

“Fine - Ginny can be maid of honor, and then Harry and Ron filling out the rest,” Lavender decided, and although Hermione hadn’t said it, she recognized that it was likely how it was going to go. She heard Ginny’s triumphant hiss of victory, which was quickly quieted by a bite of pancake. “Have you thought any more about wedding colors, Hermione?” 

She sighed, staring at the ceiling and racking her brain for any color combinations that made some amount of sense. She was still too addled to think properly, and kept coming up with Hogwarts house colors or the twins’ colors in the shop down below, or even the colors that Millie had painted on the coffee shop’s logo in the window. 

And so, the wedding planning had begun. Lavender suggested salmon, and Ginny had been quick to shoot it down - a color shouldn’t be named after a fish, she insisted. Fleur recommended champagne, but Ginny wondered what the difference was between champagne and a very light beige, and that had nearly come to blows. They thought of gold, but that was too presumptuous and too reminiscent of Gryffindor’s house colors, and so burgundy had been shot down for similar reasons. So had navy, bronze, silver, green and yellow - and Lavender had put her foot down on black, as it was a wedding and not a funeral.

She hadn’t realized how much time had been slipping by while they argued color schemes until Teddy had reappeared and asked when lunch would be ready. Fleur had hopped up and gotten him and everyone else a sandwich, giving Victoire some sort of mush before sitting back down and inquiring about blush pink - but Lavender said that was too much of a spring time color to work. Since when did colors have seasons? 

Hermione stared at the tabletop, feeling a headache beginning to pulse against her temples. 

“Hear me out - the color of parchment,” Ginny said, although she was muffled by her face pressed against the wood. 

“What would we even call that?” Lavender asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Apparently, wedding planning wasn’t going exactly as she’d hoped it would. 

“Parchment,” came Ginny’s muffled reply. Fleur scoffed, and they all knew that it’d been vetoed.

Hermione sighed, and looked towards where Teddy had fallen asleep on the floor. She gave a small smile, standing to pick him up and move him. She grasped his prone little body, hoisting him against her shoulder as he slumbered on. She wove around the dining table and into the room that had been redone just for him, tucking him into bed and dousing the lights with a flick of her wand. 

She paused as she left the door open a crack, turning back to them with a thought, “What about a dusty blue? Like the color of Beauxbaton’s robes, but a little paler?” 

The table halted, shared a calculating look, and breathed a sigh of relief as Lavender marked it down. 

“And a color to pair it?” she asked, and Ginny groaned again. 

“Orange,” Hermione decided, grinning when Lavender shot her a distrustful glare. “Not a bright orange, like in the twins’ shop - but a deep, warm toned orange.” 

The group mulled it over once more, and it was decided with a flick of Lavender’s quill. 

“Perfect - now, onwards,” she said, flipping through a few papers that she’d brought over, some of which were now spread out across the table. “Any thought of your wedding dress?” 

The headache pulsed again, and Hermione rubbed between her eyes, waving away Ginny’s concerned eye. “Oh - I don’t know...seems a bit silly to wear one.” 

“You’re getting married - when else are you supposed to wear one?” Ginny asked, quirking a small grin at her that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” she huffed, sitting back down at the table, “What types of wedding dresses are there, anyway?” 

Lavender lit up, standing a bit to shuffle a few papers in her direction, “I’m so glad you asked! We have the A-line, the princess cut, the mermaid, the empire - ”

“I wish I hadn’t asked,” Hermione mumbled, fighting off a grin at Ginny’s choked laughter. 

On and on Lavender went, Fleur chiming in to offer her opinion or any options that Lavender had left off, and soon Hermione was staring at a dozen or so pictures of wedding dresses, trying to decipher the bloody difference. Big, white, poofy, ridiculous - all of them. Some were skin-tight, long and shiny, others covered in lace and resembling a cupcake, but not a single one could Hermione feasibly see herself wearing. 

“Let’s table this,” Ginny decided, likely seeing her friend’s growing distress at the silk, lace and taffeta. “What else could we go over today, Lavender?” 

Lavender huffed, but checked her notes. “Flowers?” 

“I don’t know - “ Hermione began lamely. 

“Wedding theme?” 

“Weddings have themes?” she mumbled, rubbing at her temple once more. 

“Alright, well - who’s walking you down the aisle?” she asked, her hands on her hips as she stared resolutely at her notes, not noticing the pinched look on Hermione’s face as she spoke. “If it’s Harry, I can account for that - ”

“Bill would do eet,” Fleur offered genially. 

“Ooh, that’s a good idea, I hadn’t thought of Bill - ”

Hermione pressed her lips together, and finally gave in to the headache as it buzzed at her temples, hot tears trying to pool in the corner of her eyes. She felt Ginny’s hand against her shoulder, but she was already standing and heading towards the bedroom she’d exited hours ago. 

“Hermione?” Ginny called. 

“I just - need a minute,” she said lamely, shutting the door behind her and pressing her forehead against the wood, taking a shuddering breath before the tears spilled down her face. 

She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, but it’d been a genuine question, and one that she hadn’t prepared for. She’d always imagined her father walking her down the aisle, with the big grin and the eye crinkles, but she hadn’t heard from him or her mother since that fateful Sunday afternoon tea that had gone  _ so _ well. In her mind, the wedding was just a reminder of all that she’d lost. 

She turned to the bed, and crawled under the covers, and pulled them up and over her head as she tried to fight off more tears. 

“Hermione?” Ginny asked on the other side of the door, knocking gently. 

“Go away, Gin,” she begged, her voice warbling as she choked it down. 

She heard silence for a moment, and then soft footfalls that quickly faded away. 

She sniffed, swiping the tears away furiously as she stared up at the sheets overhead. It reminded her of being a kid and ducking under the covers to read just one more chapter before bed, and then that reminded her of her parents all over again, and more hot tears rushed forth. 

She heard quiet footsteps, and the door opened and softly shut. 

“Gin, I said go away,” she insisted, although her voice was hoarse. 

“Aunty?” Teddy’s voice whispered, and she pulled the covers off of her head to blink down at him as he gripped the bedsheets and tried to hoist himself up with some difficulty. She huffed a small laugh, and gripped his arms to tug him up and into bed beside her. “Why are you crying?” he asked, already clumsily swiping the tears away with the palm of his hands. 

The little gesture made even more tears come forward, and she blinked them away in vain. “Ohh,” she said, searching for a reason that would make sense to a little boy, and whispered back, “I’m just missing my parents, Teddy.” 

Teddy nodded, crawling under the covers with her, letting her hoist the sheets overhead once more as he snuggled against her. “I miss my mummy and daddy too, sometimes, but they still love me, and it’s okay,” he insisted, because that’s what she, and Harry, and Ginny and Andromeda and all of the Weasleys told him whenever he got sad about never knowing Remus and Tonks. They loved him very much, but couldn’t come back, but that was okay because they’d made sure that so many people would be safe before they left. 

Hermione hummed and nodded, smoothing his hair down and smiling when it turned to the little brown curls that messily graced his head. 

“Why do you miss your mummy and daddy?” he asked, after a moment’s silence. 

Hermione faltered, blinking back more tears, “Because they don’t want to be around me and watch me do some more growing up, I suppose.” 

Teddy looked up at her, his face pinched in all of the seriousness that he could muster, “I watch you do more growing up, Aunty.” 

She laughed, kissing his forehead, “Will you, now?” 

“Yes!” he declared, standing up suddenly, the sheets and the blankets crowning the top of his head as he did so, “Because I always want to be around you! Forever and ever and ever and - ”

Hermione grinned, catching him before he could begin bouncing, as was his favorite thing to do whenever the opportunity could present itself. “I always want to be around you, too, Teddy, now please be careful - ”

“Do you know why, Aunty?” he asked with a giggling grin, catapulting himself onto his knees and bouncing through the air, laughing wildly when the mattress caught him. 

“Why’s that, Teddy?” she asked, sitting up and watching on fondly, the edges of her headache dissipating despite the rambunctious little boy’s antics. 

“Because I love you  _ this _ much,” he said, stretching his arms out as wide as he could. 

She grinned, setting her chin in her head, “That’s not an awful lot, your arms are very small, you know.” 

“ _ This _ much and a whole bunch,” he insisted. 

“How much is a whole bunch?” she asked. 

“A  _ lot _ ,” he whispered in awe, shrieking and giggling when she dove and began peppering his little face with kisses. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked, putting a finger to her lips to quiet him, his eyes shining with mischief as he nodded. “I love you this much and a whole bunch too.” 

“That’s not a secret,” he said with a pout, squishing his face when she kissed his nose once more. 

“I know - now go tell your Aunt Ginny that I’m alright, and I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, setting him down on the floor. 

“Can I tell Uncle Fred, too?” he asked, still watching her as she stood from the bed. 

She blinked, swiping at her eyes a bit more, and frowned down at him, “Why would you need to go tell your Uncle Fred?” 

“Because he woke me up from my nap and told me to come make you smile,” he said, whirling around with a grin when the door popped open and Fred’s faux angry face appeared. 

“That was a  _ secret _ , Teddy,” he whispered, stepping into the room and glaring at the little boy’s grin, his hands on his hips as he towered over him. Teddy giggled, unaffected, even as Fred crouched and waved a finger at him. “However, most importantly - did you make your Aunty smile?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, beaming when Fred grinned in return. 

“Very good - now, go tell your Aunt Ginny that we’ll be out in a minute, alright?” 

“Okay!” he shouted, racing off into the living room as soon as Fred stood, leaving Hermione to blink at the transaction. 

“How did - ?” she asked, not having the mental willpower to string together all that she was confused about. 

“Ginny came and grabbed me,” he said with a shrug, looking at her with a trace of concern, “You alright? She didn’t really tell me what had happened, just that you were upset.” 

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip as she tried not to wince in embarrassment. “I suppose I rather made things awkward out there, then.” 

“It appears Lavender’s doing that enough, as she’s crying because she’s worried that she’s upset you,” he said, rolling his eyes good naturedly, although he quirked a brow at her. “Still - you alright, Granger?” 

She sighed, looking to the ceiling, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “She asked who’d be walking me down the aisle, so - ”

That was all she needed to say, judging by his understanding “ahh” as he leaned against the closet doors and looked at her as though he were waiting for her to elaborate. 

“ - and I’m tired of crying in front of you, as I feel I’ve done it enough recently, so I’ll just - ” she continued lamely, swiping at her eyes once more and making to head towards the door before his hand caught her wrist. 

“I don’t care about any of that - cry in front of me, don’t cry in front of me, all up to you,” he insisted, although he was still looking at her with concern and a small smile. “I don’t think any differently of you, you know. When you do cry, that is.” 

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, “I do, is the thing. I hate people seeing me weak and weepy.” 

“Strongest thing in the world is to break down in front of someone,” he stated simply, with a shrug, still holding on to her wrist. “Still - you don’t need to pick yourself up all the time. I’m quite good with a reparo and some spell-o-tape, if you need.” 

She huffed a laugh, grinning back at him as his shoulders settled. There was something in his gaze that wanted to make her pause, to analyze it, but her brain was too fuzzy around the edges to think through anything other than the day she’d already endured. “Careful, or I might hold you to that.” 

“Well, wouldn’t want that, would we?” he asked, his thumb brushing along her wrist before he let her go and gestured towards the door. “Come on, then, before Lavender dehydrates.” 

She entered the living room, quick to reassure Lavender that she was alright, and that there were no hard feelings. Fleur and Lavender decided to return another day to continue wedding planning, and packed little Victoire up and shuttled her through the Floo before exiting themselves. 

Ginny remained, glancing between her and Fred before she settled on Hermione, crossing the space to gather her in her arms and hold her tight, swaying back and forth with a hum as Fred parted to look after Teddy. 

“She’s got half a brain, you know,” she murmured quietly, grinning when Hermione scoffed into her shoulder. “A giant heart, but half a brain.” 

“I’m not holding it against her, she couldn’t have known,” she said, pulling away with a shrug, “I just had a bad night last night, and it rather got to me today.” 

Ginny’s brows pulled together, smoothing her hands down Hermione’s arms. “You alright? Anything you want to talk about?” 

“No, I’m fine,” she promised with a smile, grasping her hands with a squeeze when she still looked unconvinced, “I promise, Gin, I’m alright.” 

“The second you aren’t, I expect to hear of it,” she insisted, before faltering and casting a glance over her shoulder at her older brother, who was stooped low and murmuring something to Teddy. “Unless you tell Fred, I guess. Either way, you tell someone with red hair what’s going on, alright?” she stated sternly, although the smile stayed upon her face. 

“I will, thank you for your help today, Ginny,” she said with a grin, watching her gather her and Teddy’s things. “Sweetheart, come and say goodbye,” she said, crouching down to meet Teddy. 

He pouted, wrapping his arms around her neck, “Can’t I stay with you and Uncle Fred?” 

“Aunty and Uncle Fred have had a very long day, and likely don’t have the energy to look after you for today,” Ginny insisted kindly, smiling down at him as he tossed his head back and groaned. “Besides, Harry’s making spaghetti tonight.” 

He immediately perked up, kissed Hermione’s cheek, told her goodbye, and rushed to wait by the fire. Hermione laughed as she stood, Fred laughing into Ginny’s hair as he gave her a one-armed hug. 

“Bye, I’ll see you both soon,” Ginny said with a smile, stepping towards the Floo and ushering Teddy through first before she followed. 

“Great, onto important things - what flowers am I wearing in my hair during the ceremony?” Fred asked, sitting at the table where Lavender had been and peering down at all of the copies of notes that she’d left behind. 

“Whichever you prefer, I suppose,” she said, moving to the fridge to grab something to drink, feeling a new, hydration related headache coming on. 

“Who would you like to walk you down the aisle, anyway?” he asked gently, looking up at her as she neared him with a sigh. 

“I dunno, best to figure that out now before I start crying in front of everyone again,” she said, looking down at the notes. Color suggestions were crossed out, the pale dusty blue and deep orange color listed and circled. Fleur had circled aspects of different wedding dresses that she thought would suit Hermione in one way or anything, and Ginny had been quick to label her own name under maid of honor in large, capital letters. 

“How about Andromeda?” Fred asked quietly, staring at the notes alongside her, shrugging at her confused look. “She always seemed like a mother to you, from where I sat. Plus, I don’t think she got to participate in Tonks’s wedding because of the war, so she might enjoy it.”

Hermione hummed, mulling it over, and took a seat beside him, “That’s an idea. I’ll have to stop by and ask her, see how she feels about it.” 

“She’ll love it,” he said, standing with a shrug, “How d’you feel about spaghetti for dinner? Gin mentioned it and now it’s the only food coming to mind.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll help,” she said, making to stand, although a quick sticking charm was thrown over his shoulder, and she lurched back into her seat. “Or not, I suppose,” she said lightly, grinning when he barked a laugh and settling down to idly flip through the dress recommendations. 

She turned to look over her shoulder when she heard him humming, looking perfectly at ease as he stood at the stove, things bubbling in pots and pans beside him, and gave a soft smile before he could turn to notice it. 

She wasn’t sure what she would call it or how to describe it to Andromeda when she next saw her, but she was fairly sure that she’d learned something new about Fred Weasley. 


End file.
